Judas is a skinny boy with slouched shoulders, blades edged and peaked and trembling in the dark, with his mind wrenched in pieces and a bloody mess of contracting muscles where his heart should be. His laughter is hollow and flat, like a wounded animal that was shot but refused to to die just yet. There’s a tree right beside him and a rope snakes down; the weight around his throat is nothing compared to the one pressing down on his shoulders.
-
there are thirty silver stars on the nights sky that tell the story
innocent and pure
the boy bends over and hurls his grief in the sand
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Judas bleeds silver and vomits blood,
or perhaps it’s the other way around but he doesn’t remember anymore
-
here’s what the books never tell you:
.
.
.
.
.
he was in love
-
his body still sways in the wind when they find him
thirty shards of broken stars at his feet
- this is the revolution I lost | r.m
TIME AND TIME AGAIN
“NO ONE CAN SAY THAT DEATH FOUND ME A WILLING COMRADE OR THAT I WENT EASILY”
