Untitled

There will always be a part of me
That thinks the better part of me
Is worse
And there will always be of me a part
Deep inside the aching quaking walls of my heart
That hurts
There will always be the bloodied cross
That casts long shadows, dimming gold to dross
To dross
And there will always be my ghostly Jesus
My jealous former lover Jesus
Following my steps
And lurking
Lurking
Watching
Judging
Crushing
Holding
Self-denying
Choking
Suffocating
Killing
All the things I love the most
The most
The most.