The pain doesn’t stop until the body rots away.
So I’ll bathe in a tub full of maggots until none of me is left.
Thick, black leather straps binding my hands and feet,
and lips sewn shut to keep from screaming.

All the pain felt as a human,
all emotional, and as excruciating as
an iron to a bullet wound.
I’ll lay down the fight and lie against the cool, white marble
and for just one moment make the pain purly physical.

At least then I’ll be granted a small reprieve,
until I fall to my knees before The Son;
soul laid before my eyes,
gutted for every sin I’ve ever done
–bleeding onto golden streets.


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