Mama told me he’d try
to uncover my rusty insides—
smear them all over with a warlike grin,
regret it not, for I would be dead.
But those hazel eyes are soft;
those eyes don’t belong to a killer.
Is he?
_Divinity. _
I see the gaunt, grave-dug craters in
his cheeks—
fit for a tombstone—
the red veins pulsing in his eyes,
his skeletal complexion,
his beady, voracious stare.
And… yet…
I s...