Bony fingertips pry,
Cut me open, peek inside;
See the demons where they lie
Dressed in heavenly disguise.
Their feathers tickle my intestines
With sacrilegious sickness.
Bleed me of my illness,
And gift me with forgiveness.
Cradled in the sanctity of Death’s grip,
Touched by hideous intentions
With no eyes to birth a witness.

-SLuR