white like the golden gates in the sky,
your voice rang,
and i wasn't meant to be there.
white like angels of 6 eyes and 1000 wings,
they hold my place,
where flesh and feather meet bone and blood,
angels hands,
they are not bloodied, they are not stained,
they are not mine.
i was told once i was dirty
and i think that's correct,
because i am not meant for a life of purity,
purity is guilt,
guilt is religion.
you held my heart in clawed hands and i think
i think it's over for me,
heart bleeds in hands of gold,
pain can be spiritual,
if done right.
cry me a mine of diamonds, young one
then let me tell you,
let me tell you that you do not feel pain,
let me take your heart and rip it
seam from seam,
let me eat it infront of you,
mouth covered in gore,
akin to a wolf,
but with intent, not just survival.
kill me,
kill me at my own cry,
hang me from the gallows
and tie up my horse,
and i will be holy.
-icarus
YOU ARE READING
an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
Poetrythe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...
