You’ll **** yourself up, you will, you know it.
Staring at paintings of purple women,
Through indifferent eyes; flames will be lit
Just so you may feel something. And what then?

You, you, you, and the cross you say you bear.
Not nailed, but rather tied, fettered, and bound
To the wood by splintered brown and blonde hair,
Severing with a cracking, moaning sound.

Love is written large across your stomach; 
Not your heart, not your lips, nowhere it should.
Nowhere protected from the candle’s wick.
Nowhere it can turn into something good.

When it’s time, find bravery in your chest.
Do not fight it, just burn with all the rest.