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Mr. J
His uniform did match his badge.
Taking steps back, i wondered
if he understood the way home.

'Sir, you work too hard, you talk too much;
You rule with heartless intentions and unclear motives.'

He turned away and forced himself
to think of some word to try
and consume me with.

'It's your heart...not mine.' I stabbed with honesty.

There were shadows dripping from
each bend in his calloused, dry skin
but his pale and beady eyes poked forth
like a candle-light ritual performed
to some sick idea of a god.

By southernblood

© 2008 southernblood (All rights reserved)


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