Sacraficial Lamb

I think a part of me always wanted to be a sacrificial lamb. Like it's the only way to make myself holy. To paint the marble with my blood. Like bleeding out will drain me of my sins as well. To lay out on the churches floor Let the sun shower down on me through the stained glass A Kaleidoscope of colors tinting my untouched skin. The pastor so gently pulling my neck on display Soothing me with his old weathered hands The blade is beautiful and sharp Dipped in the holy water to serve its righteous judgments The cut is so gentle, a carress along my neck, The warmth trickling down like a warm breath. And my last breath is like a sigh of relief. pardoned of my sins, and made holy My blood turned to wine The pastors gentle hands stained a lovely red But this death is beautiful it's righteous and pure and I am made holy.