Followers

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You let yourself strike twice.
You give away your last shirt.
You look after the lost.
Your crown is not of gold.
Your throne is the street.
Your hands and your heart are broken.

How can we then live differently than sheep among wolves?

Under my skin

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all the feelings
scars and bloody past
every fear and torture
in the memory of my heart
everything that is hidden
in front of me
is obvious to you
all my unexpressed darkness
which I am afraid to touch
is in your hands of light
every scream I never cried
has been heard in struggling night
you hold me
when I give myself up
you heal me with your love
when I harm myself
clinging to the past
you are under my skin
my real identity
I don’t know
but you