X-Growth

in the heat of my day the writhing larvae can’t seem to find their space. a stolen nourishment of mine, consuming tearing my flesh gnawing at my sustenance I invite the scavenging bird that dares to come close to the open mouth of mine. peck at the aspect that expired long ago in the annals of my endured suffering no palms to greet me only tired donkeys and silent adorations the carpenter has made his measurements my cross awaits erected in the hills of golgatha far from being king no oil anointments the bird eats away and removes the stolen occupation I am free for now And thus laughs the unspoken word. Embrace the coming Of truth That you will carry A cross of your own Making.