Hail, thistle girl, freckled skinwalker of scars.
Turn your yellow gaze on me
death to my white stallions.
eldritch eyes blinking out of fresh soil.
you don’t want me, I can’t have you,
yet for all those horrors
I’d let you butcher my own eyes
with your thorns
unforgiving like me
unforgiving like you.
© Cat and Moth Writings
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