Toss your heart which gives you pain,
discard this imperfection.
Cut it and throw it and clean your wound,
from the source of its infection.
Black and viscous like cancerous tar,
drain it of your lust.
Make it scarlet and let it bleed,
and do what-ever you must.
Rip his wings and stab your angel,
holy he may be!
Cut him open and feed your thirst,
walk amongst your creed.
Take your soul and shove it in,
be that which you fear.
Be the demon that you are,
discard your broken tears.
Bathe tonight in truth,
and embrace the lies you’ve told.
Be not a wimp’ish man
accept your deathly cold.
Forsake your heart and burn your life
and purge your very soul.
A broken demon shall never crave
a love to make him whole.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar
