Beauty

I could grant my own tears
Beauty
There's beauty in exile, refusals, and bodies
...
Purely post-passion
Bouquet tossed forward
Whilst I live in the streets of South-East
Bleed while inheriting sin I am the beast
Comatose in space racing climbing breaking wives husbands
Children and billionaires forgotten jokes and pallets

Red dresses are pretty
Ballots cast for all except for I entered myself
I drove to my grave the other day
Flowers tossed forward from two no one no none
Tormenting the post-passions
I drove back home, and examined my staircase
With fear in my breath
I always loved neon rainbows so much
But enough?
...

Somehow, I don't know
I always knew I'd die
Wrapped in rainbows like a guardian angel's love
Wraps itself around its prey
Petals escape my mouth and my angel speaks:
"You'll be tried
In the fires of
All friendly conversations"
Bouquet tossed forward whilst we transform...
"I knew you would accept,"

I said.