Today, I folded myself into a star and got pinned with feathers and tar to the sky. I had become your new god. I ached for the blissful emptiness of the cosmos.
My Child: feed me
Alas, in place of bliss, the tar scorched; pins in my wrists, feathers: only pain. Yet where I should have bled, I shed light.
My Child: hug me
Long after I lost all, I cried a red crystal of light. My gift to you, my Child. Eat it, and you will become the Morning Star.
My Child: love me.
No, I hate you.
Yes, I love you.
I am sorry.
(published in Corporeal)
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