Point me at the man

hiding in his shame, spent.
What happened to the days
where sin left us shattered
and sitting in a puddle with our hearts rent?

Point me at the man

who is such a coward to steal
what should never have been
his. Doesn’t he feel
something so precious
can only be a gift?

Point me at the man.

He is my fiend. The one
who comes in the night to conquer
will be nothing like this
heat
blistering
hatred
that I am to become.

Point me at the man.

I won’t pull that trigger
but he’ll wish I had.