An Untitled

Innocent one,
Stumbling to be,
Ambling towards transgressions,
Rituals of White Pony and
Aching up the courage to lay your organs bare and
Into the darksome ahead, into the inlet web,
So to meet with creature who would do you wrong,
Set you alight—bless you,
Burn every square inch of your face
So pinched
In the churn, in the retrograde of need;
Eyes shaking, whilst you look directly into the sun… Sweet child,

All you are is nothing, without the urge to become.

Go on.

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