Hesitation Wounds

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I am my fear held in trembling hands, convulsing in the shape of a cross burned into my skull. Embraced by packs of rabid wolves fixated on my neck, aimed at anguish I can't see breeding in my brain. Through a storm of ash my preferred poison rains, collecting on pale skin like frost, clung to forked tongues until there's nothing left. I am my fear held in trembling hands, contorting a crucifix-like spine burned into my skull. Temptation lingering above the skin like images of angels opening veins where there were wings. Sickness instilled as immaculate conception, though I've never been a virgin to despair. Hesitation wounds like works of art that decorate the earth in familiar shades of black, retracing scars until there's nothing left.  I am my fear held in trembling hands.  I am no virgin to despair.  Swallowing nails in place of pills, I am my fear held in trembling hands.

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