My sinful heart retains it's crooked shape.
It festers in it's own small, ugly space,
Protected by a roll of yellowed tape,
Wrapped around to mask it's awful scars,
It's bleak, tormented form all ripped and cracked.
Alone in nature underneath these stars,
And forced to be unknown; to play and act.
With grace your tender hands caress it's flesh
And soothe the itching cuts that break it's skin,
Then dressing them in gossamer and mesh,
With eyes to heal the hurt it bears within.
My life has never known of better days,
Than these I spend recovering through your ways.
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