Second Coming

Red-haired vixen captures
my conscience with all
the promise of
a Charles Dickens novel.

It was only a matter of
time before that brothel shut
down, at the corner of “I love you”
and “Go fuck yourself”.

It was a neighbour
to faith,
shared a
backyard with shame,

a cathedral next
door that
received God’s
failing grade.

She mimicked true prayer and never played fair,
conquered my convictions with messiahs to spare.

Born into the elite of
desensitized deceit,
a meat cleaver to my
wreath of roses is

the median outcome,
and the prose of
my love is next week’s

I’m her
malignant mass and
she is my

The oceans of
my Earth are
her rings of

standard science,

If I am your Lucifer,
then you must
be Jesus or something.
Thank God none
of your
parables seem to

a second coming.


4 thoughts on “Second Coming

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