Breathing Black

your heart is blacker than the night;

it cuts in the waves of a knife, it’s

oceans splattering the world in ruby

droplets of cardinal feathers; every

place I look has your stain, your fangs

have torn holes into every fissure to

be seen with the naked eye; you tear

a world of apathy to her very core —

your lips hold the lies everyone dies

to hear and you know how to spread

them on the wings of your ravens —

I wonder if one day, you’ll come back

to haunt even more painfully than you

did whilst you were still breathing black.

By Linda M. Crate

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