Fridays are the days for me,

I so long for the night.

I often dream of things unseen,

so far I am from right.

How can I,

in hurtful ways,

bring to strangers pain.

I have to get it out some how,

if not my soul feels stained.

Stained from wicked evil thoughts,

that swim within my head.

Tis a curse I know Ive got,

 A curse that must be feed.

With meat that comes from innocence,

The sweetness of the earth.

Deaths the price for penitence,

a price left not for worse.

You in not a way can hear,

how loud your soul does scream.

I however have this gift,

it comes to me in dreams.

If you’re to be the one who's next,

then I shall cross the street.

And take from you your innocence,

to quench my thirst for sweet...

Saint Cynosure  

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