Worship

The sodium street lights Your few striped freckles The makeshift tattoo on my palm A couple? Never. It's always been a triple or even a single at best, A circle of medics healing medics. This distortion is fine It's a revolution of entrancing revolts. Relics ignite for every star in the ground, Scattered upon my brain. To my pressed, dear, deadest flowers... You keep leaving me out! Crystalise for me, so I can die again for you. My precious opalite, Your purity is a miracle. My beloved flaked obsidian, Your impurity is a fiasco. Both are much to be worshipped. But now what am I to you> The myriad, or the clone? You keep me enshrined. You rekindle yourself. You say the circle is perfect, but it ends 4 corners behind. I guess I'm only history. Set me alight If you dare.