Wrote this yesterday. I think it's pretty self-explanatory. I don't want to trigger anyone who might read this (hence warning in title) just self expressing!
The Knife and the Candle
All have forsaken me.
Words have flown,
darkness settles, nameless
in the bone
at the base of my skull.
If there is magic,
it is of a very black kind.
Sadness does not
become me well, I feel
I have no right
to express it. When I just want
to wear my face, they'll
have none of that.
O blood of no father -
no blood of mine, but all
I have.
At least I may see you,
if none can see me.
I will drip forever
silent into the night.
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