Lies running through lines
Craftiness lives rent-free in his blood
Maybe he was born with it
Or perhaps he acquired it along the lanes
The lanes of life
He knows your weaknesses
Like a moth stuck in a web; he skilfully feasts on you
You are his prey; a beautiful prey
You don't see it until the blood is drained completely from your veins
You struggle to be set free from his entanglement
From the snare his tongue's held you in
Too bad, my darling
You were his prey from the moment he said "Hi"
By: Sambasy
The first relief I felt after reading was clarity about how some humans are like parasites seeking whom to feast on. Thank you, Sam.
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful… beautifully sad.
ReplyDeleteSounds like Satan’s MO, except he was born perfectly until sin was found in him.
You gave me something to think about. Thanks, Sam.