Thrust is a vile endeavor, roaring animal lust
And woman yell every sacred vowel known to Azaroth.
Joy in sin, sin is death, joy is death
Trust, an even more degenerate form of inter-
course: Will imposed on the weak and wet
Brain rape at its finest
Tryst Ah the self – brutalism of the dead and
disfranchised, to make love to oneself asexually
Is the Day God will Have His Word with you.
Thank Dw, hats off, sir.
Wow thank you so much Keith, your comments and feedback honestly give me so much hope. Thanks you so much again.
Kealan,
As with all your poems I had to read this carefully and thoughtfully. Trust. Brain rape at its finest..... yes matey this rings bells from Notre Dame to Rome.
Another excellent poem and thank you for it. Your style has great merit.
Keith
Nice!
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Tony Hill
Sat 10th Oct 2020 18:29
Really like this poem, Kealan. Tony