WHAT MANNER OF LOVE IS THIS?

So it’s 23:17… that same atrocious hour where the poultry is asleep yet gurgles chatters of temptation to feed… an hour that feeding would only amount to food poisoning, simply because the pot belongs to another… I sneak, peek, pause, cross the threshold of sanity as the mere thought of being caught on my tiptoes chills my numb skin under my thick clothes… still I tiptoe

I crawl into that old bungee bed, rumpled and wrongly dressed by the tossing of an impatient felinity… that same wretched bed that harbors the purrs of a kitty, a kitty already bought with a dowry of cowries… my motions smoothen out skin that’s African and powdery… once again I’m back in this pleasurable bed that tattoos guilt on my heart every time I embrace this decrepit nature of Adam!

In five minutes its wham bam… you can assume I am done… but really I am not done, for though the actions be forgone, the deeds stick like gum… there I lie staring at the ceiling but all I see is a gun, bullets of guilt sinking into my gut and try as I can I cannot text-coat this wall of dilemma with words of reasoning… I should have been warned of this food poisoning…

So I wallow in the graffiti of condemnation fast covering the heart with indelible sprays of stainless pain… each new can blinding my vision with a fresh burst of peppery pain… to scream would be insane, so I bottle up this juice of self-disdain… hoping I can return it to the dude that sold me the franchise, but he’s gone again, like every other time… gone again

Even though the raging tempest had been squelched in 5 minutes, the billows keep rolling the ink of a scribe at an eternal board meeting… it’s the Hades Group review of excellent deeds, to be published for sin stores… I guess the fate of a faithful servant is not always positive, at least not where the Hades Group is involved… so I await the sentence, knowing who the judge is, it’s bound to be negative… how does this pleasure bring so much painful treasures?

Then I hear it… the stripes, the grunts, the mockery, the slaps, the questions, the silence, the splash of vinegar, the regret, thorns sinking in flesh, veins snapping and arteries pulling, hammers on nails, nails through flesh and bones – three of them, melting sinews on wood, garment tearing, skin searing as the spear is disappearing while the heart is rupturing… in all of these I have a fair idea of what’s happening, but my recent acts wont just let me turn around… Until He whispers… “Hey”

Then I look behind me… and I see Him hanging on a cursed tree… eyes swollen, nose bruised, lips twisted, skin mangled, frame sagged, knees buckled, spirit broken, presence gone, sin clad, mission accomplished… He whispers again… “All for you… and I would do it all over again… I would”…

Tell me, what manner of love is this?