Scratching myself
In the treasure chest
I feel the calm
Of the normal life.
How the simple act
Of waking up
Gives me a smile
That I was forgiven.
Everyday passes
With the wrath of vengeance
Breathing down my neck
And looking me in the eye.
My number is coming
But somehow yet
Every night that falls
I am washed clean.
So as I sit here and scratch
And grab a bit too
I thank God that I still can
Praise the morning wood.

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