bonfire pitted
at the root of my growth;
yes, i am growing out my dead
limbs since they are too
weak to shed on their own.
i think i have sabotaged
my angle that fit us
before it pitted our empty
space. it was as easy as
this guarded embroidery
polished down my
sacred bloody
whimsical
nothingness.
it flew by us as
we had hoped it
would.
her abused arms
straggling across
the crescent moon
filled with black
shadow smiles
and safely adorned
our
again birth.
