They called him,
the King of hearts, Jack Rabbit
Seneca of a legion
The angel of mercy with wings propelling love letters from its bow
sharp like the Red Jacket in my chest
The ace in my heart and I
died many times before
casted aside
I'm the message in a bottle
to be found ashore...
a lost psalm

And although the tare of my brittle hope to believe
that an angel of mercy could enlighten me of this scar,
I'll be shooting aerrows to knees collecting feathers in my palms
Killing soft melodies
Good or bad deeds
Perceptions of a woman
are no excuses.
No mercy for a man.
©MaddHatterQueen