Meter

In six more years,
You’ll be my better,
As I pursue the drifting sands.

An open womb,
A closed fist,

Every dirty little secret
That once was birthed,
Becomes a shackle,
For the torments of the night
To drill into me

Once more breathing,
One more breath,
As licentiousness and poverty
Drown me in their waters.

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