I must, because my Love is consuming me alive, and expression is its medicine.
I must, because my Love is consuming me alive, and expression is its medicine.
When the air turns electric and the veil thins, beauty takes a darker bloom, no screams, no chainsaws, just the slow burn of imagination and the shiver of inspiration.
I gratefully set that self-harming sword in His hands.
Little stars wash the sky over—Her spine, bridge-of-lights—eyes climb.
Every past wound, and the sword I keep near them, are but pinpricks compared to how You ruin me, and fill me Yours.
Love is the haunting that never fades.
I gather healing to myself— soul sustenance. Gratitude for growth, for learning.
He salts my air and drags me deeper into the ocean of my soul, and it all echoes Him.
The flame in me demands I dance ecstatic.
I blow out the match— I’d kept, in case I needed to forget everything.