holy

i do not find God

among the winged and the beloved

the saints adorn with white cloth

i oft find my god instead

residing snugly between the cold steel

of a razor blade and my ever exposed skin

bared for the world to see, wide open

as a sick, disgusting pulse throbs within me

and I feel the world dissolve into a-

drip, drop, drip, drop

a melodious rhapsody that grounds me to my core

rips out my shrunken lungs and forces me to stop

the shallow, broken wheezes escaping my mouth

i am a puppet to these moments

underneath the cool moonlight

i stumble blindly to you, to a sanctimonious smile

which is just a touch too bright for my tastes

rip into your chest, tear you to shreds, a bloody mess

what’s the point in holding back?

cause I will never be holy enough for you.

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