335: The Decency In Her Veins

They call her a demon.

They call her a saint.

They say there isn't

a trace of decency

left in her veins.

But she —

she lies on her back

on uneven rocks

and watches the stars

weave patterns of the past

while the fire rages

in her lungs and her heart

and transforms

the pit of her stomach

into a white inferno

she so desperately

tried to kill.

Maybe some

will think her a demon

for the norms she rips and shreds.

Maybe some

will watch with distaste and dread

as she takes the weave

in her own two hands.

But she thinks,

"Let them burn,

if they come too close."

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: All poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been viewed and commented on by our editors. Ultimately, however, we believe that it is the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions made by the editors, and therefore take no responsibility for the final product.