You tell me raise my hands and arms,
Praise the lord, for he can save me.

But; Limply they hang , wrists cocked down.
I cannot lift my arms for I am sore from the past.

You say, warmth is in sky!
but gravity pulls the warm blood to my dormant fingers. The comfort is far more familiar.
As the blood gathers in the tips that once held yours, I realize I will never move them.

You told me; God doesn't approve of our love, you told me, God said I'm not the one.

You expect me to raise my arms up to the so called God that took my circulation, my heart, and, soul?

Drop me in water, examine if my arms move.


Sinking.



         Sinking..



                       Sinking...

Will you continue watch me drown to cover the truth you've use'd your religion, you used OUR God, as an excuse to no longer love me?