Maylee Bossy (17/02/95)

Sheets draped like a toga
I fingered the ancient ruins in your ashtray
Imagined it snowing ashes out our window
Grass coated grey with innocent flesh
I dipped my thumb in
To mark your skin with a cross
We are the annointed, love,
Never the dictator
With cheeks pressed to the tracks of Berlin
The flesh turned bread
In the hands of the hungry
The clouds never do clear
We are the condemned