clean out your wounds
'things that you might like don't grow inside of me' - silversun pickups, 'skin graph'
you treat every encounter with water like a baptism. you are holier than you want to be. silent sermons fall from your lips with every breath you take. it all comes from within and that haunts you. let it. let it fulfill you, it’ll be the only thing in this life to do so. some might call it divine, prove them right.
what if this is my fatal flaw? desperately wanting something otherworldly to always be by my side? what if my image of god causes my ruin? i am constantly longing for something that i cannot name. does that mean it doesn’t exist? or that i haven’t found it yet?
there’s a scar inside of my body and i think i’m too scared to stitch it up. christ tore himself open to teach us about love. we must follow in his footsteps… but i don’t think love is spilling out of my body. i do know it’s holy, but my holiness differs from everyone else’s. mine gnaws away at me, expanding my scar. my holiness devours me.
the only way for my divinity to reach others is for their life-stained fingers to rip my scar open a bit more. i’m everyone i’ve ever met (let me apologize). your fingers hook themselves onto my ribcage. this what i’ve been waiting for, isn’t it? small hands grip my ankles, larger ones rest on my waist. maybe i’m too far gone, but their desire has entered my bloodstream.
am i too much for my god now? let’s pretend i am.
let’s pretend they disassemble me. first my arms and legs, then my torso and head.
oh! there it is, all my loved trapped behind my heart. the fingers at my ribcage could’ve kept digging and found it all. the thought should fill my body with warmth, but i’ve never liked the warmth; i can’t stand the heat. so lover, remove these fingers and stitch up the scar you’re leaving behind (don’t worry, leave the one inside of me. it’ll be just fine). i need you to fill my body with cold; only the ice can thaw out the love stored in me.