Lines
The blender of time
has utilized my face
as a map to find
its way back home.
Discombobulation
is made with the wits
of the desperate
and the alone.
To be dangling
off of a cliff
holding the hand
of someone
you do not trust.
Has made me more
of the man I am
than any loyal
or delicate love.
I hold in my hand
god’s only command
to complicate
my own.
And with this pride
and sin inside
I carve my word
in bone.
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