I've been looking for you, searching the pews.
Awaiting your voice to tell me what to do.

It's 3 in the morning and I can't feel a thing.
I’m fighting my demons, but on the cusp of defeat.

Weary souls can't catch a break.
We can't catch up; we are cursed by the snake.

Aching and yearning for the Devil's debate.
He proposed to the meek, a fruit so bittersweet.

When the doors are shut is when I feel most afraid.
I'm trapped in the room with an apple on my plate.



Monday 22 April 2024