Dementia Praecox

We could be broken,
in the glass temperament,
all hands, all hair.

The voice, a chorus
bedevils the tongue nightly.
The cross won’t keep

him behind me.
I quiver, collapse as
arm clasp. Let me bleed

to release let
me bleed to release
me let me bleed to fall.

To fall over again
for each sin spoken, each
sin believed broken.

I may find peace
wrapped in cotton
sheets alone.

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