That being said, new small poem! Patrons first, as always.
she's not good with faceless skies
she hungers for colours
the way that the vulture hungers
for human flesh;
the cruelty of nature/nurture,
morality all shot to hell.
when the rain falls, she bloats
lead drop heavy like an overripe fruit
like schadenfreude hot on the heels of a tragedy
rages and swipes dull nails
like an animal cornered
air tanging with cyanide,
I apologise for the lack of output lately, my only excuse is that settling into life sans university (long story involving illness) is a little harder than I thought it would be. Hoping to remedy this very soon. Thank you for being patient with me. ♥