🔊

do I enjoy silence? or was it bestowed upon me through schooled accustoming...

maybe its roots were sowed into the tender flesh of my gums,

rotting inside out from practiced misuse.

I still remember all the times my voice died solitary in my throat

rivalled by a town crier who always bayed in a crescendo.

the pitiful hilarity of stuttering hesitance

adorned with a seasonal blossoming of pink apples;

a reprimand for adam while eve keels with chemical burn

the accumulation of venom stockpiled by the red-faced accomplice.

drenched in the lantern glow of an aureate halo;

it merely serves to elevate every sunken hand more worthy of salvation.

it's not the hand of God, 

but a carmine bathed siren that beckons you in so illusively.

stranded and washed ashore amidst the island of Satanazes,

do you have to be dying for them to notice you're still living?