Do not pray to me, my dear
You and your ivory lips
A statue of retrospect
Poison cups from which you sip

Do not pray to me, my love
With your words of enchanted wine
Red and blues you pour into my blood
With only seconds this time

Do not pray to me, my fool
You, the jester, and I, the magic trick
From which you poor your gray doves
And snub the flame from its wick

Do not pray to me, my child
I could care far more less than naught
The way you stare at my hands
As if they held life's blood

Do not pray to me, my angel
You who's wings are the color of coal
Black and abyssmal like the night
And ask my heart for my soul

Do not pray to me, my dear
Your ears, deaf, and your eyes, blind
Simply keep believing, I suppose
You'll see I'm gone in time

Do not pray to me, my dear
At least, not right now
I lay tired and sickened by your kiss
Perhaps the next time around.

Do not pray to me.
Do not pray for me.
Do not pray at all.

"Do Not Pray for Me"

2005

This was a pleasure to read. Elegant, softly despairing, yet beautiful in that hurtful way that only despair can be.

I absolutely love it.

thank you. i had just walked outside for a cigarette break and i was looking around at the coming storm over the horizon. and i started thinking about this picture i had seen the day before, which one of my friend's had drawn and let me see. it was a picture of an angel caught in a storm, which was why i was reminded of the picture. the angel looked "heavenly" and "divine", but the way the shading was done, as well as the blue pencil he had added into some of the hues, it appeared as if the angel was tormented by something more divine than it. so i thought id try and capture the picture's meaning in a poem.

Agony is so lovely.

Methinks our closet Masochists need to take lessons from Nayl.

Very nice.

As much as you irritate me and I cannot stand you, I absolutely *love* your writing. I've obviously not seen the picture, so I cannot say if you captured the feel or not. But it does have the agonized feel to it that one can get when tormented, and feel almost helpless, unable to do anything to fix it, no matter how much you want to, irrelevant is that aching desire to at least escape the pain and angst inherrent in such agony...

Anyways. Love it! Want a

Being able to appreciate the beauty in the description of pain has nothing to do with Masochism.

I'm more of a fan of the writings of de Sade any way.

(In other words, Cron runs over to my house in the middle of the night, dressed up like one of those bears. )

So good.

+1

So good in fact, I told my friend to read it and she part of it as her MSN name. Hope you don't mind. It's so very very good.

Manjanaia ate TWO +1 over this thread!

Yeah well I'm fat I can't resist cookies...

+1 I still think this poem roxxorz my cookie boxxorz.