sashay through this misery of society,
seven layers of sinful debauch,
each velvet rib of my psuche,
to burst into butterflies like rain.
pitchforks and flames, lords name in vain,
they call me a witch, peasantry,
I am not sure why it matters,
as the sheeple hooves clamor.
more human than they will ever be,
jigsaw to a physique of pulchritude,
pad of thorns grow around my boots,
cerulean petals with white spots.
are you better than us—?
are you better then me—?
show me what you got,
dance puppet, sew what you reap—!
The bitter smiles, fake and confused
Unsure of why and when enveloped them
The sun won't set it's gorgeous rays
On one so entrenched in sin
- Authors: Beatrix M, Spencer Wilhelm
- Visible: All lines
- Finished: November 8th, 2024 12:30
- Limit: 4 stanzas
- Invited: Public (any user can participate)
- Comment from author about the poem: Two quatrains max one quatrain minimum
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
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