• mirari 10w


    I look into the eyes of my murderer's twin;
    it's odd how love and malice are the same shade of russet brown,
    how the blood spilled on my porch is the colour of
    the rose he lays on my grave,
    how tears of grief and tears of laughter
    feel the same landing on my skin,
    how knives of tongue and tender poetry
    share the same voice,
    and how the man who broke me and the man who held me
    fall under the same name.
    And I press a kiss he cannot feel,
    soothing my lonely, mourning dear;
    hushing away his apologies
    and stroking his disheveled hair,
    understanding all at once
    why broken lovers stay,
    for my love

    was born alone.