Crucified

written January 30, 2001

I see her standing before me.

She's broken and bound,

stripped of the faith and

innocence that once filler her

eternal soul.

Her ebony hair frames her

porcelain face,

matted with the blood that seeps

from her battle wounds.

Her wars have left many scars

on her once flawless skin.

She looks at me

through the strands that have

fallen in her face.

She knows I could have saved her

and I know it too.

Instead I crucified her.

Drove the nails into her cross

and her coffin.

She's branded a whore and a liar,

a walking plague.

And as she takes her last breath,

I shed a tear.

For the brand and wounds

are mind.

And the woman I have crucified

is myself.