Though her eyes are jeweled crystals,
She is the annotation of a valid *****.
Asinine men still don't envision,
She is the offspring of Satan.

Women see her true form,
Underneath that pallid, limp skin.
With lipstick as red as strawberries,
The masquerade is precisely blood from the virtue.

Animals snarl at her without awe,
Yet she's the carnivore.
Her black crinkling hair covers her coyness,
Only to ****** the prey in the hotel room at dusk.

Do you remember me?
Do you remember the way you pulled at my hair
The way you bit on my shoulder
Legs
Thighs
Neck
The way you hit my cheek
And left marks of yourself all over me
The way you flung money on my face
The way you kept ******* me
Even though I was asking, begging
PLEADING
For you to stop
The way you screamed,
"Work harder you *****!
I didn’t waste money for you to stop"
And the bruises you left
When I passed out?
I
Am the girl
From the Red Room of The ***** House.
I
Am the ****
Who is ***** everyday
But society says,
"NO. It's all for the easy money"
I
Am the gold-digger
Crying for people to stop.
I
Am the story
Of eighty million **** toys
Behind the Curtains less Doors of Pleasure for Men.
No.
We aren’t **** stars.
We don't become famous for filming obscene videos.
We are just some toys
That men borrow
Like a rental car.
We are the colors
The society talks about in hushed voices
In the corner of a deserted street.
We are the discarded clothes
You never wore
Because they weren’t good enough.
We are the succubuses
Of every man's dream.
We are Pleasure
And
Lust
And
Money
And
Sin.
But,
We die a bit everyday.
We have felt, seen and heard pain
MORE than any one of you here.
We are WOMEN.
But no one holds a candle lit march for us
When one of us is *****.
Because
"It's all for the easy money"
Isn’t it?
We are the Strippers, the Prostitutes, the *****
We
Are the nightmares you never wish to have
We
ARE THE UNSHED TEARS OF A FORGOTTEN PAST.
do you remember me now?

Curse of a thousand year
Dear follower of darkness
Constricted and ashamed are the souls of the wicked
Dormant emotions fooled by vile peace
Wrathful demons...succubuses of darkness
Sacrimonious enchantments, fornicative souls

A trillion visions of the feeder of light
King of illusion, darkness, perdition
Why feed on the blood of the innocent?
Why feed on the words of the noble ones?
Child of doom prophet of chaos...

Oh vile Woman...Witches of destruction
Who has come to fornicate and defile
Silent killers dressed as nuns
Darkest of dark white blood in your hands
Why should this be endured?
Why should my mind flesh feed of your ghastly imagery, your seductive ways, your fornicative acts?

As I write this poem and words are portrayed in this paper I myself ask
Why is being a believer make us hated by the world?

Narrative stories, concrete facts
Now I portray myself onto paper
I am a noble. My heart enjoys peace a stary night, listening to the wind,
the birds human laughter...is this a crime?

God listen to me for I write again.

Hollowed spirit defiler of light
I have seen you come to the house of God and prey upon the living...
Lucifer temptor of mankind prince of darkness
How do I differ, how do I mend, how do I worship, how do I beg?
Spiritually you have come to attack me
My heart my soul my temple

I now dress as a warrior of light...
Holy armor I portray. Followers Of Christ unite talk to God,
for its Judgement shall be passed we remain holy.

Kingdom of righteousness, Father of Justice
Oh Jehovah I call upon your name.
Still water, serene spirit my mind...Is within me but the spirit of God
lives he has blessed me. I come to you all to share this poem
whom God has told me to write...I am fascinated am lost in words...
My heart is pumping my hand keeps moving, like a mighty
Mountain your eyes gaze at it's beauty Oh mystic like river, a trance
I sense within me, the graphite being spent here rejoices my every word.
I have held you long enough let me leave you this message
May the Lord be with you all of you let him into your hearts
For he will keep your soul safe and protect you from your own sinful
nature for the day you let him in, is the day your words become alive.
©Franko The Christian Poet 2016