Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

The Butcher

Exceptional piece-read, comment and share.

word is bond

Into tiny squares, I’m feeling out of place.

Next to the pigs, I don’t belong, but here I am.

Waiting to be slaughtered, a tune that is familiar to my ears.

My peers understand, but offer nothing.

I mean, why should they, after all, I allowed myself to get caught.

My soul is pure, by my thoughts, well, they haven’t been for a long time.

A spine for the weak, that’s what is missing.

I’m kissing the stars, and the moon is vigil.

My sigil, the wolf.

I’ve been one for so long, that I must accept the consequences.

My senses have never failed me, but that doesn’t mean that I’m always right.

They say don’t try, just be, but what’s the point of being, if you don’t try?

What’s the point of a lie, if it doesn’t come with another?

What’s the point of loving a woman, if I…

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