My private Jesus
Let down his hair
As he willingly laid on the cross of my bed
Whispering "make me bleed"

He wore a crown of thorns
Embedding my sins
Splintering his lucid forehead
With my salvation

Damned
Aren’t we all
Just victims in the end
Even you god, with your piteous frown
Shedding a tear for my salvation

As if the sacrifice in you
Can make any sense of me
With my contemptible rage of the monster you’ve made
Still you lay, stretched taut, sensuously lean
Inviting me with your forgiving eyes
Guiding my to my knees to pray

Without a prayer
All I can do is weep, more like laugh
As the image of pain worn on your chest,
Dripped with sweat
Calling my name
More like whispering, unrecognizably
The sins of the pleasures you crave

Yet I remain, and bathe, in the only glory you offer
Your unending pain
Which I’m beginning to feign with the accuracy of a broken reflection
Mirroring all your rejection
The dejection that infects my every breath
With every curse uttered, disposing your name

I crawl next to you naked, but unashamed
Exposing my breasts, as I slither like a snake upon your torso
Leaning over your bleeding mouth
Placing my frosty lips upon your breath
Letting you breathe my poison in
Letting you taste the pain eating me from inside

Screaming how you could let me live
As my eyes shudder to a close,
My bony fingers creeping ‘round your neck
Resting numbly on my grave, nakedly congruent to your frame
As I tell you nimbly, my last and only prayer
“love me”