spit-tears's Diaryland Diary

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salted

he has hardly staked a claim-
in the acres of lust I keep fertile for him with rain,

each man who cums inside me since he left
is fucking for a prize
of who can make me feel less dead inside.
I am filled with arid seed.
somehow it feels
like an almanac prophecy.

if the curse is the worst
but the curse is reversed,
i've rehearsed my subversive submission application
structured sedative edited for the masses consumption.
I am a mask of a mask
I am a spark of a thought
I am lost in the moment and succumb to the art-

I am trying to find
why my ex has marked a spot
but the treasure buried there
grew, bloomed, and frosted, hard.

rise, please, Persephone
I've laid dormant too long
sleeping beauty trapped behind thorny briar wall-
but this time don't blame her-
for the harms of a man
we're all just trying to grow love where we can.

10:35 pm - Wednesday, May. 03, 2023

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