The crown was lead in your hands
its gold melting into sand that slipped through the cracks
of your petrified heart onto mine,
a lost child, terrified in the desert.
Open wounds and old sores,
I used my pain to paint dark ink across the page,
a silent plea for strength I thought I had
when the night came to take me away;
But candles go out and fire burns to ash,
and my strength is earned.
I am the phoenix from your fairy tales,
but I do not rise for you,
Gold and red, lightening and fire,
I am sharp and unforgiving,
the final blood diamond
alighting upon your brow.