When I have a yen to sin , I do it with my unbounded pen.
Thick black ink turns blood, spills in a mysterious patterns,
And it simultaneously writes my own redemption.
My spirit undergoes a transformation,sings freedom song.
In this unreal plane of my action, I become superhuman.
Every word that swims in the deluge of emotions quickly,
Sends SOSs, incessant, demanding sublimation.It's done.
I pay heed and then find, I am in the word's possession.
That decides, what would be my next course of action.
I stay firmly put between agitating emotions and imagination.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
When I have a yen to sin , I do it with my unbounded pen.
Thick black ink turns blood, spills in a mysterious patterns,
And it simultaneously writes my own redemption.
My spirit undergoes a transformation,sings freedom song.
In this unreal plane of my action, I become superhuman.
Every word that swims in the deluge of emotions quickly,
Sends SOSs, incessant, demanding sublimation.It's done.
I pay heed and then find, I am in the word's possession.
That decides, what would be my next course of action.
I stay firmly put between agitating emotions and imagination.
Writing could be divine, or on the contrary sin by proxy..
It liberates, redeems, makes it possible to sin with impunity..
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