Love and War

She had
that kind of smile
that was piercing;
once it fixed on you,
you were going to be
no matter how iron
your will,
no matter how strong
your shield.
She did not slip a dagger
the plates of your armor
so much as already have it borne
your own heart,
a secret weapon that came
your ribs,
from the inside

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.