The heart, a gypsy whore
saves a kernel of
virgin gold
just for itself
every moment it is beheld from its eyes
is a moment of triumph
this.. is just to survive
there are those with better hearts
who give rise to better souls
who wont accept
the devil made me do it
the breach of intelligence
falls dumb, like a tongue cut out
and thrown into the dusty floor
the mind observes numbly
the stripes
the bloody and stinging stripes
of a filleted whore heart
raining soft red droplets
on an axis of conscience
a hungry child watches the spectacle
it looks into the eyes of the heart
with understanding
I only know what I want, it said
who made you do it? An inquisitor grills
the answer is
the same
every time
it gets caught in the crossing
it was me, it was always me,
the unrepentant heart said
doing this to myself
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