by Nick Gisburne
Accept that we will never let you in.
Convince yourself your cravings don’t exist.
The blush of passion painted on your skin
Was copied there from lips you never kissed.
Our vices are too sickening, too stark,
To swim within the stomach of your soul.
You cannot give the signal, make the mark,
Or learn to twist a finger through the hole.
Persistence will not penetrate these doors,
Whatever hammer beats to break them down.
Naive, you are what wickedness abhors.
Exploited, you would suffocate or drown.
The pleasure palace decadence designed
Would shatter and consume your tiny mind.
