Tears made of Blood III

Come out the marrow of my bones. You have hypnotized

My appetites—my pain, my glory, my hopes made of

Splinters. Thus, I dance upon a weeping-rock, falling

While standing, my brains slammed against the concrete.

And a harpoon has ruptured my spine. What is this spell?

It rapes the subliminal, bleeding the sky of its essence.

And there I suffer, churned in my thoughts, rapid to perish.

This is my heaven, the betrayals of Solomon. And I’ve come

To the edge of Satan’s mountain—he’s begging me to leap.

 Why are my clouds drenched in blood? They speak of the

Heartaches of Christ. Ensoul me, my love made of confetti,

Instill within my stream the dreams of God. But my hope

Is the texture of fiction. And my sanctum is painted in

Razors. Thus, I collapse within the symphony of anguish.