Three days’ anxiety nothing

like these nineteen months. 

No “state of grace” internal 

or otherwise. 

The sad clown bleeds from 

within, masquerade of skin 

and half hearted smiles. Death

inside, pain carried in pockets 

full of clenched fists like 

so much loose change. 

You claim to carry my cross, yet

I see no debt. Do not dare send me 

the bill. I have paid and 

I will pay no longer. 

Forsaken, twisted, broken.

Nails were pounded slowly. 

Driven day by day.

Pounded.

Slowly…

One last breath 

just one.. for the 

Love of God, just one…

for absolution…