Plagued by my own shadow
unexpected as a wrong number
my hands ache with ardor
I am indiscriminate
Engulfed by my conscience
vague and hard to digest
cataloged in my transgressions
I am desperate
Engaged in my ablutions
the every day is vulgar
divinity's impossible
I am delicate
No heart is so fierce
no prayer is too gentle
no word before this word
I am inveterate
Where's the bloom that doesn't fade
the answer that is unquestioned
the heart that bids me do its will
I grow accustomed to my fate
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