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we are all figs here


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  • you break me into something tangible;
    calloused fingers traveling over my membranes
    knocking me to the floor of my mind palace.

    i can't ascend if my cells are imprinted with
    an emotion that isn't regret; while i try
    to separate myself from the humanity of if all
    and fly away with memories; a saint.

    but you hit me with aching physicallity;
    breaking my wings in a way that's
    sickeningly more pleasant than god's peace.

    what is ascension if not ruminating sins not yet commited;
    and reality is a wet wollen blanket dragging the sidewalk,
    as i try to avoid god's thunder on my way home
    from the park with you.

    what are broken wings;
    except feather crowns for my demons,

    that echo your voice in the rain.

    #gempoeting



oh oh it's another >.> fest
— Inferno