This Sect

Tiny Cities With Bigger Wounds

So you’re tired of being left a secret and not much more
You said you’d let go

Pitching all too familiar stories
Variations on a melodrama
Only different rooms
Petty morals adding inches to every past mistake
In tiny cities with bigger wounds

So you’re tired of being left a secret and not much more
You said you’d let go

Every clue just might be the truth
Tasted every tongue
Fingers clutching every neck
Sweet nothings lurking in every bed
Every womb is a tomb

Memorabilia will only slow you down
Should’ve gotten out, but you can’t
Each breath a ghasp
Every word a whisper
The tide is rising
(You said you’d let go)

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