I saw wild-poppies in your eyes
Your tongue was a coarse dead petal
Your crown slanted,
As if it did not belong on your mess
Of hair.
Within you are the souls of one thousand
Shades: ghosts, wights, spirits
Shades: hues, tones, colours
Within you
They play seance
With your ribs
Lighting buttercups from your blood
Gods take your crown
Poppies in sight of the holy ones...
**** you, **** you, I will not have my own tongue die.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
I saw wild-poppies in your eyes
Your tongue was a coarse dead petal
Your crown slanted,
As if it did not belong on your mess
Of hair.
Within you are the souls of one thousand
Shades: ghosts, wights, spirits
Shades: hues, tones, colours
Within you
They play seance
With your ribs
Lighting buttercups from your blood
Gods take your crown
Poppies in sight of the holy ones...
**** you, **** you, I will not have my own tongue die.
Was
Feeling
Strange
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