Council

There is sleeping thunder in the linings of my throat. My eyes emit the embers buried beneath bone. 

You wear your dead eyes with pride whilst patting your backs with smooth palms. Your smiles are trecherous and filled with the lives they’ve devoured. 

A clenched fist is tied to my hip by a splayed thread. My feet ache from the burning hypocrisy tossed beneath them.

I make undead decisions. They were slaughtered under the gaze of almighty nods.

Lightning haunts the fog I exhale. A storm is on the rise