Shallow graves stalk my being.
The torment swallows me whole,
Though never being is an illusion.
The eyes that lay upon mine are unwanted.
Just glimmers hanging on that to happen.
The neglecting chamber i force my being is dark and cold.
Though clean, I am coated with filth.
Though strong, I am weak.
My knees are lanced when our flesh finally meets.
My devotions have been unreliable at best.
My heart confused by my immaturity.
One thing is finally certain:
My blood pumps divinity at last.