weaving a coat of thorns
fingers bleeding the acid
rage wrapping a band
of iron around my chest

I roll in the ashes
of pacifism, peeling away
former words of white

is this improving me
I ask, holding back
the burning whispers

I will slaughter him
if he passes by, pity
I do not have the strength
to couple with this fire
for your pain

darling,
I have never loved this way
I have never hated this way

‘til now.