Haul down my body from the heights of this cross
my mind made up from this maelstrom of misery.
What angel now will coddle me in his wings
and carry me, the apple of his eye, to sanctuary?
A fingernail drawn from the flesh,
we part, my love and I.
I do not have the heart to tell her what I feel,
that all of this is quite unreal,
the web of a morbid dream, spider-spun.
Where now are our childhood promises,
the bread and wine that made us whole,
the words and deeds that we believed
would lead us to the promised land?
I know where I have been and what I have seen,
but it’s as if it all happened to someone else
and took place in that stranger’s dream:
a surrealist scream of an open eye
slashed by a razor blade.