Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Testor Mar 2016
I feel your fingertips run over my back
skin inlaid with gold and rivulet rubies
i am afraid of my mortal body
growing into the coffin it was meant to be
but you dig into the pale canvas skin anyway
tattoo the words you love to say
sink nails into fragile flesh
(who will remember this ink from six feet under)
shovel the ashes into my collapsed torso
chest cavity fertile enough for grave hairs to grow
your letters and sighs rot in swirling stains
down these dying earthly drains
Testor Mar 2016
Paint your morning blossom cheeks
A darker shade than the night.
Poke holes in your funeral clothes, darling;
Let the angels and their hallowed ****** light
Leak from your pores like ichor.
Heaven's colors never quite reach far down enough
To make a drunken god's eyes see
In more than black and white.

And we the primordials will be pagan still
As we fix the mistakes of youth divine
That fool was too busy splicing himself threefold
To see humanity fall apart
Under the rotting crosses they erected for his sake.

— The End —