Here I lay
under the covers;
sheets that veil my body
yet my spirit is still exposed.
Tired eyes, droopy lashes ...
no tears, no smiles
just sighs ...
exhailing particles of what once made the world special ...
in my own desert of a stained conscience
I wait for redemption,
a firebolt from the skies to come and save me
for my sheets hold no benefit,
my hands have caressed evil,
heartaches for the unblessed.
Turmoil colors my surroundings
yet I lay stranded ... weak... alone ...
under the cloths of my own misfortune,
a torn passion, a fading memory of comfort,
a guilty prisoner of everlasting temptation.