a poetry of a new revolution.

on the soles of your boots.
on the tips of your bayonets.
imprinted in knuckles
etched on the skin of my teeth.

a mosaic of shatteres skulls,
shattered dreams.

That old echafaud, will remember those words.

— O’ my guillotine girl, how long should I wait till you’ll show me your love?!

2 thoughts on “a poetry of a new revolution.

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