I waited until the sun was gone,
And my ribs were bleeding through my skin,
Bruises danced around my collarbone,
And those I knew had condemned my sin.
Only then did I get on my knees,
And to the nearest chapel did crawl.
My limbs ached in that holy place;
In front of the altar, I took a fall.
Demons peered at me through the windows,
Faces distorted by the stained glass.
A statue of the Virgin Mary
Had a gaze that would not let me pass.
I had once been of the praying kind,
But my faith had since then gone away.
I lay there, trembling and whispering,
“Oh, I will not pray, I will not pray.”
To pray would make me a hypocrite,
Who only believed in times of need.
It mattered not that I had stumbled,
And the son of man had made me bleed.
I was no longer meant for crosses,
And I would recite no Bible verse.
The rich scent of oil burned my lungs,
And the aching grew steadily worse.
Black saliva dribbled from my mouth
And splattered on the smooth marble floor.
My soul was stained by impurity;
The light in my eyes would shine no more.