Flowers of Strife



Fear is an anvil

That fashions

Of vulnerability a carapace

In these fierce designs

Anger festers as contempt

With oil slicks

Of cancerous blood


Obscured by darkness

My vision

Can see only deception

A future cast

In the decapitated shadows

Of regret

I ache before

I can be undone

In your malicious hands


These brimstone kisses

Flowers of the forge

Scalding on assembly

These relics of affection

Backhanded rage

Screaming on delivery


All our memories

Have become malignant.

In each other’s eyes

We are cruel

Capable of any atrocity

And what we accuse

Is far more vicious

Than any placement

Of furrowed hands

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