Poezja

Want to return, 
to unknowing, the 
trap door. 
 
Filling up the gaps, 
the arrow slits. No more 
I will need weapons. 
 
Trespassing the, 
brutality of sin, committed 
against the sanctity― 
 
of body. This is how 
I am re-creating myself 
without morbidity. 
 
Annihilation, was not 
the answer. I am holding 
the gold leaves of sun.