The lamb communes without reserve, blood of hosts let to run a scarlet red.
I am itchy always. My skin feels ajar, and my hairs tickle my pores. I am ablaze; the life stream shrieks on contact, erupting as steam into air.
My demeanor is rosily cordial, and my countenance meek like steel; I know my sign intimately, for I keep it everywhere.
I worry often. I am not doing enough. I made someone feel bad. People are always watching and talking about me.
Diamonds pour from my fists, jewels forged under primordial pressure. I carry this molten chalice by the dawn of light, still further into the tide of this dark night. 🌹