your father told you // that you were nothing without his hands on your skin // your cancer was not born of kindness // but of rage && chemical infusion // you are empty // your flesh creeps across your bones // your skin is made of spiderwebs // your bones of burning pyres // when you rose from the ashes // they did not see blood stained fingerprints // they mistook the spite that dwells deep within for fractured innocence // but you are more // you are lost // you are spite incarnate // you watch your poisoned blood as it pulses through your wrists // greenish blue // angry && burning // hateful && acidic // your skin is made from spiderwebs // your bones of burning pyres // child // did you ever really rise from the ashes // or did you BECOME THEM ? * dicedup // ind oc. written by spence.
poem : lord byron
