Do such tortuous actions My conscious thinks of you in the mist
Closed doors.....
In hazy heights Green mountains under the pitch black glow - wrapped in a single cloth Breathing the puff smoke
I shut the door Close the tailored book
Walk out in my fitted gown. Sunday school taught me repression
And my succession to my thoughts was one thing - action
Primed, pinned, and pointed to order In orderly fashion I defied my fathers crime
Created bedding to sleep on Encrusted with words, " You're the creator of your own creation"
Finding....... My chipped cross, crippled slipped underneath the crooked bed Your lips were spongy delights of chaos I wanted to grip to Diving in the pool naked felt like a temptuous sin My guardian was me
I found you by the darkened pond bellowing and I gripped you Casting my light And you never said a word But together we drank the blackened pond liquid And scratched our skin with empty words, hoping we knew ......
We knew, what we were taking each other's hearts for.
A story of a young girl of a preachers daughter. Rebeling against his wishes. Learning to find her own voice. She goes against the norm, defies what she knows and is willing to take a risk to explore the life of deep passion and lust on levels that would rouse scorn and discontent