POSTED 06/22/2018 12:17
How can it be that love is a heart that glistens unsoiled with blood?
The mind in fetters, labours in sugarcane plantations
where fine twitter that hail him on
are made by mockingbirds in suit and tie
He is fat, but on the diet of swine
He is one among a million brothers
holding ploughs, passion misappropriated.
Tonight there is screen before him
One that displays everything soothing, swooning and pleasurable to
ignite honeyed images that bite later in the chest like whisky.
His love is not a thing of fifty shades of red
His soul knows not what it wants
The chains pulls him over on the next ridge with a soft tone
and a cruel lash of the slave master asking for more recharge.
He charges towards the chance,
he pulls off the nun's sacred garment and cape off the internet and
wears her g-strings and chews greedily with knife and fork on the
His heart beats fast before rectangular cut glass
that shows girls in bikini smiling at him
Delilah tonight is as cheap as a click
and undone with wantonness calling him a click away.
He sees all, but not in depth
The chains drags him forward but more behind.
He waives his dignity, clicks the icon effortlessly and twirls to the
edge of his bed
He promises to tell the creator
how sin came adorned in sugar coat
and the whispers in his ears were like the voice of His angel.
This is not what he wished for
So vapour-like; forgotten within minutes
He descends down, saddened
Power goes off
His life wilts like hyacinth to the heat of fire.
He is the gold studded on Lord Zucker's blue robe
in the garbage can.
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