Premeditated murder is what you would call it.
Life sentences is what I’d deserve if I was ever caught in,
The act of putting my life into sentences as the coffin,
For a man I bury every day I pick up God’s call,
And,
Cleanse my body of evidence no one will ever see as long as I’m coughing,
Up another poem I sow in the heart of a soul in search of an omen to make up for losses,
Suffered by the hands of an imposter they’ve glossed over for a bit of shine canopied by darkness,
Through sin they’ve allowed to prosper…
As a writer,
I’m plotting often.
Jotting down a blueprint given by God.
And.
His will for love above flesh-eating desires.
My shield when accosted by demons spitting out fire,
Smothered by tears of joy whenever I think of a new life I’m living now that I feel much lighter,
Than before…
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