_To Jess_
The heat, the humidity,
And the bright blankness of the sky.
Handicapped by fear, not darkness.
Shaken, yet their bodies vigilant.
Bold crimson seared through the flesh
Like fresh sin bled into it.
A conspicuous scarlet letter.
I was a public display, a warning to all.
An audience of whispers whirled before me,
But I did not waver like they did.
Cross after cross, crisis after crisis,
Crucifixion made hands sandpaper dry.
My sentence was final. A full stop.
I danced with deadly weight.
I was hell itself. I had walked through fire.
My skin marked unforgiving constellations.
So what was that little light of yours,
To a shell dead inside?
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 1:31 AM UTC
_To Jess_
The heat, the humidity,
And the bright blankness of the sky.
Handicapped by fear, not darkness.
Shaken, yet their bodies vigilant.
Bold crimson seared through the flesh
Like fresh sin bled into it.
A conspicuous scarlet letter.
I was a public display, a warning to all.
An audience of whispers whirled before me,
But I did not waver like they did.
Cross after cross, crisis after crisis,
Crucifixion made hands sandpaper dry.
My sentence was final. A full stop.
I danced with deadly weight.
I was hell itself. I had walked through fire.
My skin marked unforgiving constellations.
So what was that little light of yours,
To a shell dead inside?