There's not a prayer in the world
In any sect or any tongue
Holy enough to be answered to undo what's been done
The urge to recoil and strike swells like the tide
This classic position
A beginning which looks like the end
It lingers to sting
Abscess and canker
Swollen decay
Lusting forever
The most wretched of flypaper thoughts race across the mind
as the moan like a whore
Their only love is to linger and sting
And swell by feeding on the hurt they bring
You won't live through this