wine soaked lilacs
left to rot in the sun
gifting a sweetness to the air both cloying and commendable.
the bees of some forgotten hell
(thrice times twice)
circling stingless and erratic
drunk on the piss of martyrs.
(and her afterglow lit the way back to nowhere.)
there is a symbol for Nothing
and it’s carved in the back of her throat..
.
-.sjb.
(via heksenhaus)
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