The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

Lifeless fire and smoldering embers
in her eyes of unborn moons.
Hair that tumbles and strangles,
rolling in whispers of thunder.

Crawl into her mouth
so she can swallow you whole.
Pray that you sink
into her inky soul.

Withering to ash
in the echo of her laugh,
grateful you ever lived
wrapped in her wrath.

Rest between her lips,
dying for a kiss.
Give her it all,
weeping in bliss.