He Plants a Seed
for every baby tooth you'll ever lose.

When it comes, the apocalypse in all its glory

I wonder how it will know us / what signs might mark us out.

Saved. Brimstone is just sulfur really, lemon yellow

the stuff of matches and fertilizers. Fire and growth

sowing brimstone in the fields. I can hear

the rats whispering their prayers.

August 4th / with 6 notes
Tags: Portia Carryer, words, poetry, excerpt,

  1. pittedpeach posted this