Your claws slipped and
the gash was inevitable,
that’s what you’ll tell
yourself each morning
to sleep through the day.
You go ahead and keep
sleeping your life away.

Everybody knows that
night isn’t when the
crows line in threes, no,
you’ll find them hiding
in each one of my trees.
I am stitching stealth
into a calculated reserve
and cauterizing severed
bonds like arteries,
because this is not the
first or last time for me.

Grant yourself immunity,
honestly though, enough
of this blaming the flame.
Your bitter weather will
numb it for now, but
eventually you’ll have to
face the truth as it thaws.

And I, oh I’ll be just fine,
the warmth is in my pulse,
the fire was always mine.

– B.

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