And then the
cold god
will pat me on my head
and give me
another's broken wings:
'See if you can fly'
he says to me
before
cutting the world in two,
before
pushing me
out there, into the
hole of his heart
where death was born
from a half eaten apple.
Junkyard Of Muses
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/god-239/
