Host me on your throne
Seats covered in red velvet
Let me be the queen who
I know I'm supposed to be
As I carry your sword into
Every battle you pick for me
Because I have nothing left
Rusted nails onto gold wrists
Fill in the cracks of my life
With your blood and tears
Cry your salt into my wounds
And I'll try my best to listen
But I battle against soldiers
Stronger than you'll know
It'll be your funeral on
This field of coal-mined lust
And no diamonds in this mine
To adorn on my fingers
When there's nothing left
You cannot cage a queen
Who spits blood on kings
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The Poetry Collection [Editing]
PoetryA soulful recollection and philosophies on life from a young, femme, punk poet. Poems ranging from when I was still in school, moving out, exploring the world for the first time, moving through the years, until now, being an independent artist and b...
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