I.
What am I?
A martyr with no cause
Separate my bones
Part the cracks and refill with resin
The sulfurous dust
Ejected from a god I never saw--
The sacred and profane carefully labeled
In little orbs of light
It seems the willingness towards-
Crucifixion-
Could get me held high on only stained wood
And coloured glass
... I'd be on display
But silent.
Saviours cannot bleed for their cause
If they lack blood--
I cannot siphon feeling
If I lack the thinnest skin
Footsteps tread like barbed wire
And handshakes move like words
Even my loudest scream
Could not faze the smallest cloud
So tell me darling...
How can god hear?
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