His naked form
in silent repose
glistened
with salt tears
The tiny tracks
of silken threads
splayed
across his chest
Arms held open
against the darkness
clinging
to torn ideals
Whoremonger
cries of despair
waiting
for tomorrow’s victim
He will come again
with coined pockets
jingling
to pay the piper
A Thought For Every Word
GL Roberts Books 
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