Post the Eighty-Fifth or Whispers

I hear

Her whisper


In my chest

I exist

I exist

I exist

Holding two halves

Of a Broken cup

Trying not to


I hear

Her roar


Through my veins

Avenge me

Avenge me

Avenge me

With your sword

Of black lace and sharp mind

Colored brown

With dried gore

I realized

That life is

More than just

A series of


But dead women

Do not feel


About witchymorgan

I'm a 22 year old womanist, sex positive, pansexual, polyamorous, queer, bruja, transwoman. Social justice activist by day, social justice activist by night. Fun! View all posts by witchymorgan

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