Our favorite games were killing.
Our favorite books were death.
It had been beaten into us:
God is love.
Not the parched face and gnarled
capes across a stick body; jittering
in the nude sky, we couldn't see
trying to touch us
for the blood in our eyes.
Mots clés death killing catholicism blood-in-our-eyes god-is-love jittering nude-sky the-witch this-metal
But there was little heart to our lust,
only the confusion of not knowing
how long we'd have in our bodies.
Mots clés youth lust mortality daria this-metal
The clock sweats out each minute
of what meat is left to us.
Mots clés time meat sweat clock wrestling-practice
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