The Catacombs

House of Heart

So often I’ve returned. Searching for you, I walk the empty streets of Paris before daybreak, descend ancient trees , a featherless bird soaring through shadows on wings that can’t be seen. I search the catacombs through tunnels and crypts, shelves of dusty artifacts. A dark wound of night is what I have become. What awaits me here? Doomed catelites possess my body beneath a dripping seraph. Only with sleep do they punish me. Released I fly away, sweeping through gravestones carved with angel wings where apparitions float in unrelenting absence. Fear sinks into the chamber of my heart. When you have lost everything you forever fly on.

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