A Price For Pentinence Poem by Saint Cynosure

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 fed.
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 your 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...