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