My stomach
churns
acid.
I lay in bed,
counting
the sheep
in me.
And I
hate myself
for every
lost cause
I find and
pet.
I want to
cut open my
stomach
and burn
the wool off
the sheep
with the
churned
acid.
Jesus loves me,
yes I know.
For my nation
tells me so.
Cut the wool
off of every one.
My words go on
but I am done.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
****, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me--
my nation tells me so.