Dear, Mr. Allan Poe

Too many touched
by second heart.
That fell unto we
fell apart
deep down into the
cinder blinds
that burn my heart with
scripts of time
that burn my fingers
to the white
and peel my eyelids
back at night
to serve the fire that
melts my arms
and sends coarse shivers
up to my brow
A tongue of heat that
laps my soul
convincing me that I'm
the whore
that fucking raven
We'll dine on words
Sir Allan Poe
to know more than
you'll ever know

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