Suddenly it grew cold.
The loss of innocence was so good,
it hurt.
Again.
Position.
Pressure.
Penetration.
Slide.
A blood stain
grew
on the white sheet.
Virgin purity
ate the apple.
Now its shame.
The mark of the beast
over
the heart.
Sharp intake
of
breath.
Exhale.
Click, click, swing, mother.
"What are you doing? After all I taught you of the love of Jesus, what have you learned?" Light has entered,
blades will glisten.
Drop it, squint, smile.
And with the latter,
"It is finished."
What I Learned in Sunday School by comtesssorelli
Poetry » Life Rated: T, English, Angst, Words: 92, Published: 5/7/2004
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