Take my bones.
Rend my flesh.
Run calloused fingertips along my smooth bare shoulder
before you
cut in deep with rusty blades
Wreck me like a *****
Internal bleeding and prolonged suffering
are far better


than my loving for another
woman

The pen trembles, the paper perspires,the hand remains steady. Or is the mind weary and reality an illusion within a dream?
Infatuated with harmonising every line. Your mind is violent but your words are quite. incessantly bleeding the pen but there is no pain in your words, just anarchic serenity as you conclude with tranquil tragedies.

i just want
to hold onto something
that doesn't crumble
at my touch

"God is love."
Is He?
Because according to God,
the love I feel is a sin.
It's wrong to feel so loved.
Is God love when I write love poems for another woman?
When she holds my hand,
is He love then?
An understanding God accepts all love.
Is God love?