Command it,
the time in between,
to cease, to even depart
from its arrival
to heal the cuts
lining your arms.
You’ve written
your cursed name
above each one,
hoping to negotiate
a peacedeal
with the devil.
You’ve been denying
the bitter flavor
pouring from your heart,
melting with the sting
you call sweet.
Rows of ceremony
for your safety
among running waters,
burned to be red,
dressed to be white.
You’re sticking
with the vacancy
of your chaotic mind,
to be a feast
for fading stars.
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