Sharp darkness,

How they love to speak on your genesis

How they love to play God,

like you weren’t light

before it was ever spoken.

How they hate to laud your composure,

Like you core doesn’t burn

with a thousand suns enough t

to melt existence.

How they will paint you,

like you too aren’t human,

like your soul doesn’t crave an unsettling rage,

but instead spits an even more

provoking peace.

I break for you;

Everyday you die,

even if just a little.

You die, to live for them;

like you too aren’t


One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.