The saint, we, flayed.
I’m a pile of nervous skin.
You an ascending blaze of sanctum.
Thousands flail, in observance of you.
The thread, us, frayed.
You are a rainbow/brown braid.
Tied to your finger is a knot that reminds you of yourself.
I’m a brown rain brain.
Families of animals devour themselves behind my eyelids.
Podunk spiderwebs cross my mind, a public derelict.
My brain, an empty scrotum, fathers nothing.
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