I woke up this morning,
and the night was hung over.
Nursing a bellyache and heavy head.
I truly felt for him.
I really did.
But I had to deal with my own regret.
There's a circle of dead children,
They are the soil of my garden.
The only fertilizer that brings
my flowers to full bloom.
I remember I was one of them.
Ripe and unopened.
A true piece of God's art.
Crafted by his own hand.
How I grew and grew.
The night opened me up,
with my lover's kiss.
A tumble over mattresses,
with her name dancing on my lips.
She was an angel,
who made me a man.
We were lover's entangled,
in blankets and intercourse.
I had given her my insides,
and she gave me hers.
I was a child once. |
Submission Name: A Circle of Dead Children
