Thief
Legs so long,
I’ve walked so far from home.
And I’m a gone girl again,
as his world rests there,
in the back of my bent-knee mind,
on my deformed shoulders.
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Scratching, fighting,
like a cat in my throat.
Mystery knows.
Who runs this show?
A con-man, a thief, a priest of limbo.
Light fingers,
the ones that I know.
They are always clawing their way to my discount soul.
But now I know better than to take my name in vain.








