I am not lost.

I’ll draw on my skin the colour of my soul let the flames flicker at my eyes. My skin bare, soft porcelain. My hair a tangled mess of passion. My fingers intertwining with the unknown. In that moment you will see truth as my spirit searches for its desire. Satan will grin as temptation overcomes my being, for he knows, when the days end I will repent my sins and tell Metatron of the loves I felt, the desires I have known, the passions that have burned, and he will write them down for he still recalls the flutter of a thousand wings as blood rushes through the soul.

Karen Hayward © 2016.

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