you have bathed yourself in the blood of long-dead,
and drowned in it.
you have proven that you are no god,
no one to be worshiped or equivocated to the sun,
and i will no longer slice my wrist in sacrifice.

my skin is not your canvas, i am not a piece of art, i am not to be stolen.
you are not a god among men, you are not unblemished or unreal.
we both contain a beating heart,
and we both bleed red.
your blood is not a menagerie,
and my is not dull by comparison.

you are not especially pure,
you do not decide sin for us all,
you do not get to be both the judge
and the jury.
transgression is immoral,
but killing for reason of a misdemeanor is a infringement on the natural cycle.

if someone truly died for you to live,
then they did so in vain.
your existence stinks of hate and greed.
you want me, you want peace, you want blood, you want for nobody but yourself.
"do not bite the hand that feeds you"
fine, i will not harm myself.

just know that the next time you demand to be treated as a king,
it will not be anyone's blood on the stone
besides your own.