And if it drips cold
from the chambers I call heart,
to fester and burn
like the rest of my guilt.
If my fingers shake
and my vision blurs
from the tears I’ve meant to shed
eons before I became.
Would you take pity and invite me
back inside the warmth of your soul,
near the steady rhythm
that reminds us of who you are?
Would you see passed what I’ve done
and see who I want to become?
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