You rule my desire,
this dull blade of a rusted knife.
The clock stopped at three—
and I, midnight.
Don't leave me to burn at the old gates,
I know you won't come back.
I know.
Afterwards, take me however.
Let the wounds be final.
Frostbitten.
Like stabs on a songbird.
Jan 9
Jan 9, 2026 at 10:39 AM UTC
You rule my desire,
this dull blade of a rusted knife.
The clock stopped at three—
and I, midnight.
Don't leave me to burn at the old gates,
I know you won't come back.
I know.
Afterwards, take me however.
Let the wounds be final.
Frostbitten.
Like stabs on a songbird.
first poem of 2026
