Life had tossed you in
flames.
Like hearthstone, I sit
deleting my colors.

Time on black feet
runs, on the sacred
river bank.

Molten lava will ask
when, and from where
the funeral procession will start.

A hard core wants
the evidence of rape. Two
leaves will not cover
the naked aggression.

The spooky game had
become, ultimately― the biopic. Once
angles used to roam
on the burning coals.