Poetry

I breathed the incense of my own undoing. 
Mistook your hollowed hymns for hallelujahs,
your empty altar for the promised peace.
You wore salvation like a borrowed garment,
and I exalted it with all my yearning.
Replayed your gospel through my restless nights
like sacred verses written by the angels.
I christened constellations in your honor
before I glimpsed the void between your thighs, 
your cosmos built from neon-lit departures.
Divine communion wasn’t in your scripture;
only silence fed me when I craved divinity.

Writer, poet, editor-in-chief | 3x Magazine

r u sure u checked that 1 all 3 times cuz? lacks that lingering scent of divinity, gnosis watt i m33n