Work Text:
Flawed, God. Gnawed, God.
Dog, God. Devil, lived.
You have my heart (you tore open my ribs and took it with force), I want it back (replace the sins I ought to repent with your name). I am marred, in your eyes and His and my own. These corpses hold no meaning. Not when your lifeless torso is left to lay on a railing isolated and barren and lost. Not when I am to return to becoming one with earth without having a hold of your heart.
Curses be the son of wicked Britain. Curses be the morphed son who used to forsake a burnt palm for a corpse’s palm. Curses be the daughter of God (me, I, myself) who is to never forgive nor be forgiven. Words held back (time, emit, teach, cheat, earth, heart) shall stay hidden within the sleeve that is my lips. I, you, we: sick (kissc).