On the wooden beds you once lay
Bloodstains remain-
A murky brown
Undoubtedly
Yours.

You paid the full price
For sinners who wouldn't
Stop

Injecting pins and needles full of
Bitterness, scorn and
Shame.

For your life
Was exchanged rusty needles and half-
Filled syringes full of
Hate—

Searing our
Eyes full of anger and mockery and—

Grace,
What have you done

You,
Stabbed to death for a
Freedom not even guaranteed,
Wounds not even cleansed,
Bones not even mended—

Murdered for me on that cross

All for the slightest glint of broken mirror,
Hoping that a shard would
Pierce

Me.