for the gods | poetry

hold her hands

red against the light

her face falls down

his head on her collarbone

chest inward growing

bones crack through the night

he has a smell on his fingers

she knows where it’s coming from

those blue blue eyes

mother suicide

trapdoor arms

hold her tight

the carpets whimper

too dark outside

no light gets in

the roof is heavy

black and green

the rot tumbling

up and down the stairs

her heartstrings cut

My own drawing © Laura Gentile 2022 | Instagram: croque_melpomene

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