HIM

My, oh my, how pleasing these butterflies are, and yet so uncomfortable. My body is
   speeding through paths and my pores are clogged. My skin can not inhale the
   details, and they are unaware of the blemishes forming in my heart and soul �
   Desperate to be enjoyed � It�s a pathetique shame.
My chariot arrives and the red carpet is even thrown out for my pleasure, guidance, and
   protection from the mud. But this teasing cannot protect me from the pain I�m going to see.
   It is cold outside and this place is inviting. I hurry up to the warmth.
   I chase my destroyer, and my actions want to get = but my love part wants to show its face.
My hands grope the muscular forms and caress his pain. Alas! After years he flips and
   returns pleasure onto me. Repeat taps, picks up the pace, and he wants my love.
   Admittance and apologies are unspoken, but he licks across my second face.
My hand (that is my second face) has been living in ink, and I can�t believe he�s been
   watching the whole time! With three clocks, all time is washed away and nothing,
   not even him, can make me leave this happy place, this sanctuary. Dreams have
   never dreamt this night.
My Mourning after is that of being drunk. Alcoholic poison from butterflies? I seek out
   the enigma of his place, this cathedral of false gods. I want to return and
   complete my deathly sin, but it is lost. I want to return, but once it is sought out,
   and I am there, standing in astonishment, and numbness, as I gaze upon, (what
   seems to be) a shallow whole. Something is missing, and I find again my pathetic
   waiting room. Man, I could sew myself up faster than you�d get it done in this
   place. What kind of Dr. is he?
My return to home: I sleep. I dream. I awake. I hurt. I search. I find � dry land. But will
   We make it there before this bruised ship wrecks? I hope You sent out a dove. I
   hope You find an olive branch.
My travel, an extensive, viscous, deceiving, dirty road. Two games on the table to play, I
   have two good hands but will I win? Hark! �Patience is a virtue� but. Eager eyes,
   Eager hands, Eager love, but never has my SOUL been so eager to behold.
My redeemer, eternal life He gives, is in the distance. He does not react to his callings.
   His blood is that of a sloth. All the time in the world, He has to live at heaven�s
   gate. Will He save me, wash me in his crimson smile. Diamond promises are in
   sight� wait � maybe they are cubic zirconia�s. And so I live. "To resist is to piss in the
   wind."