Cyst on My Wrist

There’s a cyst on my wrist.

But it’s nothing like the cyst you’ve placed on my soul.

Your wall of lies cast a shadow. You gifted me burden.

Then scorned me for trying to cut it away.

I’ve searched the universe for plausible pretext.

As you smiled in the mirror like everything‘s OK.

Have your religion. Dressed all nice. Lights go on. Time for your show!

Praise the Lord as your mouth overflows. GRACE! ACCEPTANCE! … no!

Locked in to one perspective like a telescope. Hubble.

Seeing so clearly, light years in one out of four dimensions.

Please would you just finish me off. Weapon of your choice.

I won’t tell the authorities. I could care less if they know.

Throw me into your favorite grave. No one will bother you.

They don’t send seraphs with painted on stories to the depths of hell.

Apparently. So don’t you dare worry at all. The gravity is all on me.