When nights gulp sunsets,
I see a wounded soul etching demons upon its skin
every night she pierce her heart with metaphors
and raise despair under the gown of her sins.
Nightmares embellish her scars, which
she draws with scissors, some days with quills too,
she bleed rhymes rather than blood
when a glass of red wine leads her to nailed pew.
She chums with darkness and
crowns her head with stoned nostalgia,
she puts hiraeth to sleep like a mother
and weaves eulogies to light up phobia.
People fetch her kindness with gossamers
and sucks forever out of her memories,
while solace no more provide healing
and she drowns in her own poetries.
She brews scented cobwebs in graveyards
to resurrect her living corpse,
she welcomes death whole heartedly
by enamelling scandals after baptising her flaws.
She breathes through funeral notes
while bleeding through eyes,
she ignites all the courage
when her smile fade into sighs.