our messiah is bleeding in bed, staining rocks with pills and surgery receipts
my curled-up form
resembles forest bugs.
the body so carved, scars
sit silhouetting even when
the sky is clouded and the
stars hardly shine
and my bare chest and
hollowed out face mar
felicitations for daybreak
people staring into my eye
sockets, filling my nose
with cocoons and caterpillars
to make the sickening scent of
morning ambrosia (“her
favorite”, they call it)
and i choke of blood, watching
them cut apple slices from
my excess, seething out as
they cover my teeth in
cotton candy and i sit polite
about how you thrust incense
into my ears and scarlet flowers
bloom like that show you hate
and lastly, they bend me over and
fill my fuckhole with prayers,
reciting exact commandments,
impaling me on degenerate crosses
(“a thief”, they call it), lavish
and hanging next to other deities
they don’t believe in, my insides
whored out for the promised land
where i wake up in the morning
and know whose verses
i need to recite for forgiveness.