A prince exiled from his reign,
my heart has no wisdom
without its freedom,
and sentiment wanders now with resentment;
it's hard again to conceal
aware of my will.
This executor took aim to my lungs,
shot many times, amuck.
Breath is stuck.
I'm plugging holes with raw sugar,
licking my fingers - it tastes good,
it tastes like blood.
My mother once told me
not to take candies from a stranger,
I never considered
they could ache my liver.
Great words and caresses
softened the harshness,
took me in a long blind alley
where my peace has been raped.
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