Poems that never touch the page.
The Lachrymose child.
Spawned by looming death of a heart once wild.
And all I know is that I have to try.
As the pigs yearn for wings to fly.
A starlight crescendo silences the elite.
You were wrong not to believe in me, you were wrong.
And I was wrong to believe in you for so long.
I can feel it stuck…
Stuck in my throat.
The penitence in my blood flow about to explode.
No coward will reign from underground.
Despite all of the things I’ve been through.
(My past feels estranged.)
I know that I can do this.
(I’m still a crusader.)