Confluence of Form

In the identity of a saint,
Through malnutrition and poverty,
I plead as though an angel
Dressed in silk and plaid.

Fornicating through the government’s
Miscalculation of trust;
As the one had handed me
A silencer.

I never knew where I was
When I was
Beheaded for the
Apostasies of regurgitated
Hypocrisies.

I left you bleeding on the floor,
Face down in your own dirt.

Cutting through the flesh with
Cold hard steel.

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