Sands of Sleep
No god would want me now. No coward holier than thou. I raise my palms towards a caitiff cloud denying the beliefs of the devout. Removing stitches only inches at a time. Allow contagion to flow free from either side. Gnawing debris in hopes my jaw might realign. The sound of beating hearts will match the silence of night. Sands of sleep return to rust. Cover my cuts with concrete, opening arteries. Filthy hands pull shelter from beneath. Opening arteries across a desecrated grave. Embedding a poison in me to ensure I'm forever your slave. No god would want me now.