Your a virus
Afraid of the dark
And I Ecclesiophobia
With no name for a
saint
Your much more at fault
Each time you make me fall
You hold me in quill like
the ink of a scholar
When more holy than
the blood of a martyr
When I faultier
through the Nile
In exile
With you
As we both
Lead astray
Each forgetting
Only
Essence is everlasting
As the sun
To moon
Beyond time
What matters not
To you
But I
Forged in thought
As you forgot
Season snared setting
your own trap
Left me
to thurst a bodkin
into my head
without hurting
left
For dead