MusingsPoetry

Her Name is Sin

Like fine wine
poured in a slender glass
She stood, beckoning
To souls upon souls

And they came, all of them
Diving into the abyss that is her
Lost and never to be found
Forgetting the face of their father

Like fine wine she stood
Right before me, beckoning
Without restriction, I dove in
And drank to my fill

I had no soul, so I survived
And now I’m sitting on my table, writing
And she’s entangled on my sheets
Beckoning me to come back

I became her abyss…

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