Sweet temptress (Article A.)

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Sweet temptress (Article A.)​

Nailed to a piece of wood.

Your spectacle amusement.

The wounds of my hands and feet.

A negative yet benign cancer.



Her hands reach into my mind.

Her hands caress a dead, lifeless heart.

An adventure to the lost.



My face, a little contorted.

In need of a warm touch.

A torso left dangling by a misshapen past.

Still the same damp clay you left to harden upon graves.



A pity-laden statue snapshot of something now unrecognisable.

Weather chipping away more and more on a time worn face.



You took the nails from my bloodstained hands, and I slumped to the floor.

The puppet of her every need.

I cannot resist, as I taste the drips from your eyes.



Now hold me.

Hold me.

Hold me.

Hold me...