7am.
you conduct rituals to save face and pretend your eyes don't wander, spitting lesser evils through bared teeth but grown men don't sleep with teddy bears. grown men don't wet their lips at old pictures and let their hands wander over baggy clothes; grown men don't beg for forgiveness.
'pray or he will burn you'; that itch, that rhythm it commands, over-powers you. you're trying and dying, trading spit and blood for lust and rusted gold.
'i can see you inside / full sin, full of pride'
father's love; i don't know who i'm fooling, if not myself. an eagles just another bird, until it can spread its wings.
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