1 3 7 (someone called rachel)

from your lips i hoped
for grace, for
hallelujah

i should have known
the discord beneath your eyes
we put so much stock in pupils, but
falling flesh burns better than
rope
and i can see your sleepless nights
inner fights
with nothing but a glance

when i had passions
i was wrong every time
i called love by its first name and
it called me out
and i was wrong
every time.