I bleed.


Each time

you berate yourself

a stake is pounded

into my wrists.


Each time

you take on blame

the holes in my feet

grow sore and fester.


Each time

you hurt yourself

the crown of thorns

presses into my skull.


My face runs red

with the blood of my tears.

I would love you more

but it is all I have.


When you decide

to love yourself

I will come down

from my cross.


But not before.

4 thoughts on “WWJD

    • Thanks. Your voice is more powerful still when it takes hold. The question I ask is whether it is healthy to go there whether it provides a good read and meaning or not. I think of Hemingway.

  1. Pingback: My 100th Post | No Stolen Cat Pictures

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