Like throwing bedsheets
In the wash with a blade, and the
Fabric gets caught and torn, tattered and
Ripped, and when I pull them out, they’re
A knot you can’t undo, can’t
Untie, like our feet dancing
Through the seams at night when the moon
Spilled through the blinds and we
Woke up to birds and sunlight, but now
There’s blood on the satin, the
White fabric, and I can’t get it out, I can’t
Seem to scrub them clean, so it stays, and
I let it, like an omen, like ripping open
A pomegranate and letting juice spill but
Maybe dirt under my fingernails from
Pulling at my heart is just what
Jesus died for
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 4:43 PM UTC
Like throwing bedsheets
In the wash with a blade, and the
Fabric gets caught and torn, tattered and
Ripped, and when I pull them out, they’re
A knot you can’t undo, can’t
Untie, like our feet dancing
Through the seams at night when the moon
Spilled through the blinds and we
Woke up to birds and sunlight, but now
There’s blood on the satin, the
White fabric, and I can’t get it out, I can’t
Seem to scrub them clean, so it stays, and
I let it, like an omen, like ripping open
A pomegranate and letting juice spill but
Maybe dirt under my fingernails from
Pulling at my heart is just what
Jesus died for
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