king of hearts, heartbroken lover,
where shall i find you next? laid
out and stretched flat waiting for
the next train to mark you martyr?
making more scars for my trembling
-with-false-hope fingers to trace?
don't die for this one, my suicide
king; don't bleed yourself barren
for this waste of breath. i have
already shot myself holy, filled
my wounds with forgiveness nobody
but myself could give--and now you
think i should heal you too? what
grace do you think have i for your
demons? what peace for their rage?
if in this skin, these bones, this
blessed body bared, you find your
redemption: take it it's yours. i
have already found my sanctuary in
your precious whispered words. and
i have no intent of returning it.
5/18/2003