Is it that she fears the crosses that they will burn? left to sift
through the ashes of her loved fragments of flesh as these grains slip
right past her fingertips. I'm left to watch you smile as i bleed myself to
death, as she prays to hear the voice of her savior once again, to wipe the
tears of venom off of her face. What gave her birth? She spits
her fears into the cancer of humanity, as her hopes and dreams descend
down to her knees, your perfect heaven has become my hell. In the
parting of their loves, a victim of hate who has yet to be born, but
ready to endure the pain instilled within its birth. What the whispered
words never replaced. And left to sift through ashes of these fragments
of flesh, as these grains slip right passed her fingertips. It slips.
