Lust

I am in despair.

Every day of the week it is so.

A life of disarray.

He has done this to me.

That playful, knowing smile awoke something within my soul which had been too long dormant.

Now it grows and becomes hungry, consuming me.

I am on fire.

Every day of the week it so.

A life of desire.

Oh, it is he who has made me this way.

A shameful yearning so strong, surely others must feel the heat.

He is out of reach and my being is lonely.

What good is the company of anyone else?

Every day of the accursed week is an agonizing countdown.

I live my life for Sunday’s, because they are different.

I am in love.

Every Sunday it is so.

Yet, he never looks at me.

I see him there. A beautiful shepard.

Oh wretched sinner such am I to have such a longing.

Holy saint he surely be, still he placed this curse on me.

Condemned to burn alive on earth.