Broken Son of Hell and Heaven

Cerulean glow in one palm, golden blaze in the other—
Damnation and salvation, twin flames licking at the wrists.
His halo carved in ash and gold,
Tilts toward ruin with a lover’s grin.

The roots claw deeper when he tries to run—
But the fruit, red and swollen with promise,
Still splits sweet on the tongue.

He bites anyway.
He always bites.

Because even in death,
In the blistered grip between two worlds,
His body remembers every fall,
His eyes remember every climb,

And his heart… still beats.