Black holes stop their pull in fear

Hate hangs from me like a disintegrating cloak It’s sickly oil tendrils trailing from me It never gives passes Eloquent in its misuse Scratching its way through the sheerness. of the slivers Feeling so black that blue isn’t quite enough Love drapes from me like a sculpted marble toga It’s twirling twines exploding into fluff It lives in the past and futures Incoherently overused It coddles in lessening touches of soft Feeling the light before it lands