Jesus lies dying in my bed
companions since birth...
in this stagnant dingy haunt
he never really lived.
last night i beat him as he would not leave
my insane eyes stare at him as his welted body bleeds
frequently i rape him as i know nothing else
he curls up like a fetus and paints his face with sadness
now a fragment of remorse has etched
i bandage his wounds, i kiss the face of jesus christ but he is dead
what can i do?
you have forsaked me, called yourself messiah, expected me to follow
but now he is dead and his prophecies with him
i will bury him not as insult to your face
as i stare at his corpse one detail disturbs me
his cold stark finger points where i have not been...
from my house, a cage of rotten wood
i stumble forth to lay beneath the bush
withered bones groan,
i cultivate as the soil and i grow closer
the sun receives an empty gaze
it mourns
it knows my life is gone
no more to offer but my flesh to this soil
and a single tear marks my final prayer
a rosebud sits in the palm of your hand as i end
this flower
it blossoms