Confessional #14

In a post-apocalyptic segue,
between rifts of cataclysmic
orchestral chamber dysfunction
I bleed my violins;

And down in the depths
of a transgressive pit; broken-
heart, plague-boiling, cosmology

Never have I been
so corrupt.
As I am,

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

And vacuum
the dust of my pretentiousness,
wipe away the tears
of my regrets;
deliver my soul from the trenches of the dead,

Wake me from my slumber.

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