I always admired
your blueish-red skin
which complemented your fire-green eyes.
The snake-like hues
in your eyes,
which I had once found beautiful,
now angled themselves toward your demise,
and you were purple, to my surprise.
I locked myself away, unsure of what you would say
but knew it would be lies.
Altruism is often anglicized,
prophesied, to be proof of someone's halo.
To put someone else's needs before yourself,
must be proof of someone's moral health.
Honey bees nip at my knees,
which causes me to freeze.
Oh, why me?
You could have chosen anyone, little bee.
It’s dark, where I am. Not cold, for cold gives you solace. Not hot, as in a hammer striking molten iron to make a sword. Not warm, pointlessly and deliberately harsh and itchy.
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