An ode to femininity.
And she is beautiful
And so am I.
Syconiam
In my dreams i dance with Mother Mary
Her beautiful hair wraps around my wrists Cutting my circulation.
My veins tangle amongst themselves
And try desperately to mimic the freedom of her tresses.
She keeps me restrained until I feel like I'm dying.
The juice as your blood, We eat figs with our bare hands like animals.
And i consume every last piece of you so disgustingly, Just like you have done with I.
We verge on desparation for eachother.
You indulged so greedily when you got to my heart.
I have cried one hundred and forty five tears
One for every day I have known you.
A glass half full.
You drink my sorrow in one sip, Salt lingering on your lips you simply ask for another glass.
And The dress you were once so fond of is now stained with our blood, sweat and tears. I have kept it in a glass box ever since- An exhibition for my eyes only. Preserved for my own secret religion. I light candles around your display Careful not to scorch your remains And I pray to you every night.