"Lara"

A wild lady is living in me.
She died young. 

She was burned and buried alive.
She was so angry and hungry at the world. 

From her holy tongue, she speaks wild language,
the kind that tastes like smoke and honey, 

the kind that stains your mouth when you try to name it.
When she whispers, the air turns red, 

and every word drips like cherry wine, 

sweet, warm, slow as it slides down the throat, 

heavy with mercy and sin.
She prays with trembling lips, 

and i swear, 

even her silence hums,

like a hymn that was never meant for heaven.