The Holy War

we are born cradling our knees

as closely as a guitarist plucks his strings

holding onto the spark

buried deep into the tissue

subconsciously, we expose our torsos

only

to those who make us feel vulnerable

i’m bound from heavens doors by these blankets

false advocates reach for my stomach

ao while i lay and pray

the devil dances on this mattress

i’m breathing heavy

and curl up

rocking between heaven and hell

there’s no more left of my spark to sell

but i hear the bidding for my organ’s 

are going quite well

that’s when sleep swoops in and

saves me

when everything fades

thoughts begin to fall like dominoes 

the battle follows, a shadow

i can’t feel my knees like a wounded soldier

my war’s peace

is somewhere between death and defeat

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