SubtleDagger

Empty Lungs And Promises

His cigarette outshined the moon.
He ate embers. They peeled and sheared
From the stick, glowing fireflies
Dead in jars with untouched lids.
His kids were home with empty stomachs.

All the meek can hope to inherit,
A mountain of stains and spit and shit and
Souls sold over blood-signed X's.

He flicked his wrist and wasted breath.
It rained terror. All blood and teeth
From the sky, flooding water
From the mouths of dying whores.
They wore his girlfriend's favorite lipstick.

I turned my head to cradle thoughts
Of his fingers. They curled and clawed
At his mouth, unclean scissors
Tore apart his priceless art.
His heart was pulsing red acrylic.

All his children would ever inherit,
A mountain of graves and holes and tolls and
Souls born under father's hexes.