BLOOD IS ON THE LINE
︎︎︎ Genevieve Claire
︎ Oct 21, 2025
Dig me a shallow grave.
One I can sit up in and remark upon the weather
– Cerulean blue. Yes, sung like a canticle,
truth frustrated by subtlety.
Until a dove arrives in a rush, what a hurry,
why, Your Honour,
I don’t doubt that you are cloaked in velvet,
walking backwards, whistling along to
the manic beat of feigned helplessness.
To the thunder of kitten heels dancing on the ruins.
Our Mother, the Real one,
signs her name in broken letters.
Siren songs as anthems, silk falsettos spun in time.
Oh, to be the belle of the ball! A slave to expectation.
Temperance, a flirt, a fool,
anchoress of her own volition.
One I can sit up in and remark upon the weather
– Cerulean blue. Yes, sung like a canticle,
truth frustrated by subtlety.
Until a dove arrives in a rush, what a hurry,
why, Your Honour,
I don’t doubt that you are cloaked in velvet,
walking backwards, whistling along to
the manic beat of feigned helplessness.
To the thunder of kitten heels dancing on the ruins.
Our Mother, the Real one,
signs her name in broken letters.
Siren songs as anthems, silk falsettos spun in time.
Oh, to be the belle of the ball! A slave to expectation.
Temperance, a flirt, a fool,
anchoress of her own volition.