…The attic (XII) An ode to Lily…

And though she met what she had red, the words adorned the walls instead — anon

My face blurry
To hide the burns

It’s not so early
As these words turn

They call me blurry face
And I’m on the case

My words have wit
And are witless

To ire, inspire
Or scare you shitless

Stitch yourself together
It’s now or never

It’s a crime to rhyme
In lieu of something clever

Your sword is your arm
Your eye is unique

And though the dark is not your friend
I know whereof I speak

The fifth frontier
It’s for the meek–


And this is how they read.

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