sascha’s blade dives into the night, drives up the black ceiling, 
and leaves an opening where the stars that already exploded sleep. 
i bleed into a mouth full of worn teeth: they were never sharp
child turns furor turns apology. sorry is a word that doesn’t just
escape my intestines, we both know. that’s why this is our second time dying,
he locks me into the wasp’s nest, connections webbed like the innocents’ hive
only with slick grease instead of honey, arms resting on the roof. 
my stomach bloats with all the crying i have done and child turns deaf wolf.
anger always leads to how God does love us and there’s no patience,
so sascha plays the role where he’s swallowing his father’s
blows and the curtain drops, to reveal, me as death, that never comes,
taking pity on the dead instead of the living

Alwina Hermann is a seventeen year old girl, currently residing in Europe, who has a strong love for words, linguistics and, unsurprisingly, cats. Most of her works center around trauma because that’s all she can write about. She's a strong believer in the kind and soft. You can find her on tumblr (@ohmoonkid). 

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