I’m sitting here on a wooden pew,
reaching out my hands to you.
You cover my eyes so I cannot see –
are you reaching out your hands to me?
I hear you lift a toilet seat,
then you tightly grip my feet.
You shove my head into the bowl;
and with a flush, there goes my soul.
Then by a lake in the shade of a willow tree,
are you reaching out your hands to me?
I fall into the water, dark and deep,
And you cover my eyes to help me sleep.
Awaking to the ‘click’ as you lift your crossbow,
selecting targets on me, both above and below.
Then swift and straight the shaft fiercely flies,
hitting me right in between the eyes.
There’s blood in my eyes, I cannot see.
Are those your hands in front of me?
As I reach for you, you pull away,
Please don’t go; I need you to stay!
The shower is cold, and I masturbate.
You smile and whisper, “Now wasn’t that great?”
You ask me to taste the Forbidden Fruit,
But my tongue is gone, you’ve made me mute.
I pull the arrow from my head
Idly wondering if I am dead.
Perhaps Heaven is what you chose it to be,
Since I see your hands in front of me.
The sun turns cold as the moon glows hot;
what was your name? I think I forgot.
A pleading whisper, “May I be free?”
Then you withdraw your hands from me.
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