[J]Ustice & [T]ruth

It’s time to close those glass castle eyes,

To slumber in the grip of taffeta and cornflower charmeuse,

Relishing the release of iron-walled whispers —

Perfumed by formaldehyde.

For Truth, I’ll smooth the edges of my rocky words,

And forgive, forgive, forgive like a peach

Pressed to teeth.

It’s time to fold those barbed wire fingers,

To cradle a bouquet of apologetic nightshade and belladonna,

Abandoning a pearly, hemlock love —

In favor of the sky.

For Justice, I’ll bleed the heart of my self-respect,

But my hope still breathes, breathes, breathes

My final words: I live for me.

It’s time to preen those fire-filled wings,

To meet your epilogue of soil, sunlight, and velvet-soft velleity,

Pardoning a history of unsavory (mis)adventures —

A constellation I’ll always find.

For Me, I’ll hack my jungle of vitriol veins,

And spill myself free, free, free

Of you, of her,

And of me.