broken hymn Sundays

Thu, 10/06/2016 - 12:26 -- semy_

I fucked a man my best Sunday dress
the very Sunday i claimed a curse
the sin of gospel hymns chatter
a sweet delight of sour broth of mourns and clatter

i fucked a man in my best Sunday dress
i twirled to my reflection against the shattered glass
Virgin thunder thighs of a god fearing lad
surrendered into Diablo's soothing thorn hands

i fucked a man in my best Sunday dress
left me empty and sad
its black that highlights my caramel skin
pushed above my waist, expose some delicate skin

i fucked a man in my best Sunday dress
gloomy bushes i laid in tense
where i lost my innocence to man i shall never meet again
the tight walls i will never regain

i fucked a man in my Sunday dress
i cry now and then to catch rest
smell of condom wraps
regret to sight, sight to perspiration addressed

i fucked a man in my best Sunday dress
stings of sticks beneath my back
devoured by soul hungry man
never will i again wear to church this beautiful dress

because at 15 i fucked a man i my best Sunday dress

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