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| Death of Marat by Jacques-Louis David (1793) |
Marat’s water flows red
and the letter written
was not mailed
but rests eternally
in his lifeless hand
Up north
Water is a glacier
creeping slowly
suffocating my mountain
with its icy tendrils
She watches
you incessantly
from her frigid buggy
icicles dripping
from frozen teats
Wanting your hand
to wash her cold cunt
crawl inside her
make her feel alive
Like no one else
How many have slit
their wrists in a tub?
Or shoved someone’s head
beneath the water
Until the protest stopped?
Marat's water flows red
And shadows drape
his still warm form
I would hold him
and weep his loss.
and the letter written
was not mailed
but rests eternally
in his lifeless hand
Up north
Water is a glacier
creeping slowly
suffocating my mountain
with its icy tendrils
She watches
you incessantly
from her frigid buggy
icicles dripping
from frozen teats
Wanting your hand
to wash her cold cunt
crawl inside her
make her feel alive
Like no one else
How many have slit
their wrists in a tub?
Or shoved someone’s head
beneath the water
Until the protest stopped?
Marat's water flows red
And shadows drape
his still warm form
I would hold him
and weep his loss.
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