A Thought for Every Word

Dirty Trick

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

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