My past is a prison
Where I kneel alone in dust
Every memory is sorrow
Every tear is red rust.
I’ve spent decades in the shadows,
Where grief crawled under my skin.
In my silent saint sanctuary,
Numbness was my sin.
I opened up my heart to trust—
Not to lust, to a fragile bloom.
But opening a heart like mine
Is like reopening a wound.
And when the pain cuts deeper
Than a sharp blade to the muscle,
No physical torment
Can drown the heart's lonely hustle.
Love is my religion,
But the goddess fades away.
Sometimes she’s divine light,
Sometimes she just won’t stay.
Still I bleed my devotion,
Even when I’m torn in two—
This open‑wound religion
Is the only thing I ever knew.
I live inside sorrow’s soil
Where ghosts still call my name.
The present feels like foreign soil,
The past burns like spreading flame.
Some who loved me got badly burned
By shallow ignorance—
A frozen marble monument
With a slowly thawing heart.
But now the ice is melting,
And the ache comes flooding in.
I’d rather drown in my feelings
Than be numb ever again.
Forgive me, all you demons
Who tried to hold my hand.
I was buried in my sorrow,
Too broken to understand.
While I’m crawling from my ruins,
Bleeding, breathing, but mostly true—
This strange coming to life in my chest
Now beats because of you.
Love is my religion,
Even when it feels like sin.
My goddess turns to shadows,
Then resurrects me again.
I just let my heart keep bleeding—
It’s the price of life and truth.
This open‑wound religion
Still feels better than the others ever do.
✠ ✠ ✠