“the world has lost its color in wait, for your return and eventual claim”

I’m currently busy musing about The Lilyborn, suffering in school, and pondering plans for the future. So in my lieu, here’s a haunting poem I found from a month ago. I have shivers down my spine.

I came over having ironed my dress, washed between my legs anointed my thighs, pulled comb through much neglected hair pressed breasts beneath raspberry bodice not killed the spider forsaking sacrifice, who turns eight-legged pin wheel in small glass used for candles I did not burn because, I wanted to burn with you and lie […]

via Murmured wakening — thefeatheredsleep

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