Poetry

The Truth

The truth hurts, like a cut limb,
A phantom pain after its birth.
My truth didn’t hurt.
No! I saw it coming,
I allowed its stabs and cuts
I savoured its loving torture,
I savoured its cold blistering warmth,
My bare skin opened to its harsh embrace.
I was like a snow wolf, but ice fire was my coat,
My truth.
Frostbite became a dear,
Hellfire was my mother.
I wanted more, I seek for more,
In my hell of truth.
What was the truth?
Only after death did I accept it.
I am a seed of siblings,
I birthed a sibling
Now, hell awaits my soul,
I sold it to the devil,
Right from birth.

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