The Great Destroyer rises on wishful wings,
penetrating faces to seize our hiding places
and stuff them with galaxies of possibility.
Voluntarily, we will make opaque the way home.

Her eyes are the eyes of a whale butcherer,
gray and empty jails, imprisoners.
Remnants of a flag that fell.
Stranded in a stagnant well,
where majesty and miracles are so common place
that they become invisible.

You're fucking brave to come here
and put me back together
and hold me when I tremble
because I will not let you go.
Unless you say so.

Whenever the wind blows, it stirs up the old ghosts.
They stare through my windows where I lie awake
and wonder how many years it takes to die.

The queen is coming.
Murderer of sunlight.
Rememberer of every time I felt afraid.
Furnisher of airtight reasons why we should be dealt the pain.
The queen is coming.
Catastrophic great white, towing purple faces down to hell.