Condemned to Betrayal


Sutures like stitches to the heart
not mended for anyone like me
my wife, not sown to me but mended by time
though lost by fail
I trial her religion and trial her fine.
Although her lock's tie me to her
with my fingers intertwined
another comes to mind
So lost in infatuation
I struggle to commitment
and kill the ideas of lost locks
and sow back together this connection
in this last sight it is known
that no heart to sow
requires something to bind
with my time as a factor I need to be haste
because every moment lost
turns one moment drugged
and dead by dawn.

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