Tired of the Clouds

tired of the clouds
lost my eyes in the mist
a stranger stole my colours
on the corners that I stand
now I wait in shadows
darkness swallows my songs

my pockets have no soul
my mother never worried for such things
as positions aren’t pleasures
just another way
of looking at a crocodiles teeth
my father told me once
I was one farking bitch
told me
I was born for the crucifying

so lay me across
the mattress that you choose
be it concrete or organic
its a position like all the rest
just don’t nail me to the cross
for my sins
are only a master of all your wants


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