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.


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