Forgive me father,
For I have sinned,
I broke my promise,
Fell in love,
And cursed my Lord above.
I made a man into a boy,
I used him,
My little toy.
I begged,
I borrowed,
I cried,
I made him love me,
I felt him die inside.
But,
Though I'd keep him away,
My boy decided to stay,
And I grew to love him,
Only,
Bad behavior was not above him.
My boy became mean,
I wanted to scream,
He tortured my soul,
He broke my dream.
He stole my body,
In the best way possible,
I blossomed under him,
He ravaged me,
He gave me all that was not probable.
He made a whole piece broken,
Took part of my soul golden,
All because,
I resisted his kiss,
I reserved my love,
He would not let me miss.
He was sweet and kind,
I drug him far behind,
But he learned my game,
And better he played.
I didn't want to truly hurt him,
Just break the surface,
But the scars he gave me run deep,
And now his face haunts my sleep.
Now,
I now share my body and my mind with no other,
He was all,
He was the one for me,
Now,
He is gone,
And now loves another,
I stay,
Surviving day to day,
He was better than pills,
Now,
Living out all my cheap thrills.
So Father,
If you can hear me,
Forgive me,
Take my pain,
I'll take the blame,
But,
More than anything,
Remind him of me,
Let him hurt,
Let him miss me,
In your name,
I pray.
YOU ARE READING
Art isn't always beautiful
PoésieA collection of poems, from deeply sorrowful narratives of lost love, to lustful laments for cigarettes. Joyous songs are rare, as this is an authentic representation of life. And life isn't always beautiful. {All works accredited to WildeYouth}
