hatred festers in unmended wounds,
where maggots rest,
and when they once again
open up ungracefully
it is not blood that pours
and stains your plain white satin,
it is crude oil and rot,
decay like rivers flowing,
dead crows circling your dreams
make sure to never wake them
whisper carefully into the void
it doesn't matter who calls back
let it be heard
let it be known
this is no place for hatred
this is no home maggots
this is a window
through which sun blazes
this is an unmade bed
in which love lies breathing