WONDER

there will always be wonder

and where there is wonder

there is hope

but where there is no wonder

instead, bickering and bouts of exhaustion

silent, wishing the other would come through

there is agony

cultists meddle with my mind

ask me if I like the taste of blood

there’s a hundred children at my beckon

if I would but lay down

and disappear

into despair

trauma

I could have all the riches

all the dresses

turned up

into night after night of lascivious

respected by young and old alike

crushing stones within my hands

so that everything bends to me, even time

but who would I be then

who am I without myself

questioning the right, reassessing the wrong

following the steps not laid out by man

but ordained by stars and nebula

who told me “live” from the beginning

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