This thing will last forever
It's bound by the touch
Embeded in my life
Sewn in and such
A candle with a pheonix flame, sits on the desk.
It's wax never melting, never softer, never loose.
A light in the dark places, to protect from the grotesque
but when it's the world around us what is the use?
This thing is eternal
Like a new tattoo
A sentence of depression
No, my wish come true
Moth Harris's Other Poems
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