You shed your wings
and fell not from grace;
you ate through the womb
to be
born.
Your mother died before seeing your
little hands.
The Father shut his eyes in
disgust
when you spoke your first words.

Your eyes are blackened,
your knuckles bleed.
The wounds decorate your
skin
and you
laugh.
You walk with your
powdered nose and your
wide eyes.
You're ready to **** 'em all.

Ripped limbs and careful spelling;
meticulous and violent.

No fruit in the world
could reverse the process.
No holy liquid could
wash away your
curse,
your blessing.

You wouldn't have it any other way.