As it splits upon your tongue
my perfect halo comes undone.
We're sat in ashen circles 
that are black with bones and blood.

Our form is taken lightly
we're vague whispers of our gods.
Gods that have never spoken 
to the minds of faithful ones.

I take the bones of spiders,
crushed in ask around your neck
I've never believed in Jesus -
never heard him answer back.



Do you hear him speaking?

The End

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