Mary's p.o.v
Holy atonement, cement imprinted words,
a self-fulfilling prophecy. The beauty of
crosses, wasted sacrificial innocence.
You trade in your golden scepter for a crown of
thorns. Blood cruising down your legs
and thighs promises healing for the brokenhearted.
In a world where birth and death collide, hold
your breath no more. Go ahead and take the
lead, just give up the ghost. Among all people, I was the one
who loved you the most in sprite of the heavy cost.