The Creasing

Christ a poet

They don’t see the act,
So my countenance is
a surprise.

Invisible blood
stains my past
from a future
that will never happen.

They don’t know
the whole story,
So my transfiguration is
a shock;
Electrifying tracks
Reverberate true
my train of thought,
heavy with arc-using,
defusing my joy.

I shake it off,
Its just guilt,

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