Wear my silver bullets on the edge of the fire forcing my feet across the red lines of hault
while you tarry away with my heart
i answer the call of its most dangerous part
t’was more than you after all
one settled score
i care to fall away, now and deeper more
‘Wear my silver bullets on the edge of the fire’ this whole poem reminds me of the mythology associated with werewolves, the speaker in my mind seems to either be a cursed soul sick of the sin of their own existence, or perhaps a hunter after a soul connected in some way to their own.
DSC
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