layered in layers of laminated love,
I linger beneath the landlocked clouds above.
Peeling them back has been painlessly painful,
proving that pain is poetically unobtainable.
Pain is my way home
It calls me on the phone
It knows when I’m alone
It’s in my fucking bones
Ooh…oohh..oohhh
Pain is my way home
It calls me on the phone
It knows when I’m alone
It’s in my fucking bones
When the dust settles,
like freckles on human skin,
Rusted metals begin replacing porcelain
Dystopian origin, I lied to the historian
The sediment of yesterday offers nothing to find glory in
When the dust settles (beneath sin)
like freckles on human skin (skin)
Rusted metals begin replacing porcelain
Dystopian origin, I fucking lied to the historian
The sediment of yesterday offers nothing to find glory in
Milk white fangs sank deep into my nape,
Paralyzed by fate, unable to escape
Pale lips whispered in my ear.
An ancient voice was all I could hear.
Accepting the truth of the pain,
I could feel teeth on bone.
Hovering above the black,
faceless voices began to moan.
Ooh…oohh..oohhh
Pain is my way home
It calls me on the phone
It knows when I’m alone
It’s in my fucking bones
Ooh…oohh..oohhh
Pain is my way home
It calls me on the phone
It knows when I’m alone
It’s in my fucking bones
Then my heart bloomed,
reminding me of my power.
I must not allow such beautiful evil
to acquire the illusional hour
Studying the anatomy of poison,
my blood became toxic.
The fangs melted, retracted,
and the spectral voices lost their logic.
I took up arms against the legions
of my heart's hellacious abyss.
Freeing my soul from a timelessly painful fatal kiss
When the dust settles,
like freckles on human skin,
Rusted metals begin replacing porcelain
Dystopian origin, I lied to the historian
The sediment of yesterday offers nothing to find glory in
When the dust settles (beneath sin)
like freckles on human skin (skin)
Rusted metals begin replacing porcelain
Dystopian origin, I fucking lied to the historian
The sediment of yesterday offers nothing to find glory in
Ooh…oohh..oohhh
Pain is my way home
It calls me on the phone
It knows when I’m alone
It’s in my fucking bones
About the Creator
Kale Sinclair
Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
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