harassment · Humanity · Society · Uncategorized · Women

Dancing in my own blood

For with due pneuma I do then forgo

Linger like an unheard echo in a vale below.

 

Like I am a lie, I am the fiction you left unread

A wound upon a spool, a mere slain thread.

 

Freedom is a rippled mirage, a mere delusion

Merged into a primal being, I am just a standing illusion.

 

Surmising the winds are about to come

Like a malady in disguise, till I crash and succumb

 

Endure to be a mere grain of shifting sand,

Linger to be felt, to be groped with the slaying hand.

 

For I muzzle my voice, with honor and shame

Bleeding like a butchered kine yet a leaping flame.

 

Like I sway in the standing crypt of my own blood

In our town of wasted honor, brimming in a fuming flood.

 

 

 

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