Cradling, enabling this cane to initiate the pain. The Nuns casting their sadistic spells to punish the part that’s unwell.
I send myself to a constant Convent of rules and regulations, swathing myself in bandages to supress bad languages,
A linguistic shelter for my heart ❤ to swelter, there’s no escape from my head which lays awake from morning to night, living in spite of cruel condemnation.
The Church Walls are closing in, “there’s not enough time Father to confess my sins…..for I make mistake after mistake, I ache for repentance to rid me of this guilt. I am not built for such chastising revelations…..so I’m asking you to remove such obsessions…..so I can better do thy will, can we make a deal?”
‘YES Dear Child…..for you have suffered enough, I allow you freedom in the name of love ❤’ x