I am a ghost on half
bended knees, waiting.
Striking matches with
my tongue, the lyrics
licking the door. Sin is soft
and catches easy.
The choir is rampant.
What good is forgiveness without forgetting.
There is a wolf or is it a man
with a book, either way there
are knives and hunger. Sometimes
there is a choice of meal.
I am on my way, a pillar of salt
melting into the sea.
.
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