Apr 12, 2013
Sacred Grove
Dry, emerald flesh, Earthborn and raised by the hands of artists, Glows orange in the moonlight, Mimicking stars in its crystalline skin and ember pupils within the irises of a blue dream
“I do not feel happy,” And in that glittering burn it cries out in agony and we laugh, We laugh with hatred, Spilling boiling, toxic words with our loose, immature lips— Anything to appease the demons
With my teeth clenched I breathe fire, Sizzling echoes to the moon, But we look upon your face, Watching you jerk and sway, It is then that I realize no matter how much it bubbles, I will never be as happy as you
“I do not feel happy,” And then we vanish