Sing for Me

Allison Marie Conway

In darkness there swells the truth about you. The murky depths of the truth you wish you did not want so badly to see up close. The Devil is in your blood is black like rain is watering the dead. You seem to have built a temple you can no longer manage to maintain and so the crumbling comes naturally, almost as a relief. Destruction as the sweet jolt of violation, the art of pain as surprise. He steps in close to you and you disappear against yourself into the void. You watch for the signs. You count the numbers, you lay out the cards, you mark the corners, face each: north, east, south, west. Clockwise. Counterclockwise. Drink from the cup. Never break the circle. You bite a stranger on the mouth and take him home to find out if you hate yourself and if you do, how deep does…

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