From the bough
broken not soft.
Crucify a Christ,
the one you lost.

Saved you are not,
you don’t want it.
Tender whispers
you desire my lips.

Vacant is your soul,
fill in the carnal.
It is far too strong,
skin covered caramel.

Life runs to the end
and on ground tacks
pierce flesh of feet
once soft now black.

Fill that hole fall
not anymore love.
Your savior yours
is not from above.

So here you’ve a
want now so hunt
the marshes dank,
your words a stunt.

Trap all accolades,
place them in a jar
in the corner you
deserve none thus far.

But I know I am
a sinner bad too.
Our fate is same,
all tender turn blue.

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