memoirs of a cadaver.

i. would you still love me if i was a rock? the edges chipped away with each hit of the hammer like a death bell. listen closely, it sings: “your time will come too.” and so an angel of stone is born my name engraved on its base the vessel of spoiled blood was a serene seraph they said. its wings shield me from the beams of the sun i do not belong to the world. ii. soft murmur of prayers lift the veil of my heart for insects to feed on. vessel by vessel they get to know me. the wings close in feeding people lies about my peace the insects rip tissues away letting my heart bleed of the leftover fury boiling inside. perhaps the angel cries of the same substance too i do not deserve the world. iii. dull blades pierce through my soil. the sentinel has died. they ripped her organs out, planting them to let the world know and have scraps of her vengeance. among the many skins of man they pulled out the skin bowing to my soul. the worldly air oxidized my bleeding heart into blasphemy feeding the egregore haunting the cathedral of bootleg. is it still not enough to feed the tar in your lungs? is it still impossible to love me as a rock?