what am I doing?

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your words are burned into my memory like the gospel
burned in scarlet on my skin
i repeat the mantras you taught me as i place the heat against my flesh
i ask for forgiveness while looking at the scars you left as if it is my rosary
but like most children when raised in a faith they begin to detest it
i'm no different


Random things I come up withDonde viven las historias. Descúbrelo ahora