Blossum her face
Who dies, disgrace
Blossum
Who dies a symbol,
Who has three days.
Long days
Now gone, clemency
For three, not her
Body...
Not her cold tears.
Coldness all these years.
A rat scurries.
Mercy project,
Mercy symbol.
All a lie.
She rots.
This article is under the CC-BY-NC-ND license.
I am a poet, short story, novellette, and novella writer. Genres in the past I've written include Time Travel, Post Apocalyptic, Cyberpunk, and GameLit. I briefly ventured into Slipstream, and now circling back into writing GameLit fiction with literary elements.
Nowadays I simply want to write, and not worry about genre.
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