I come back with the tide, mud in my belly and bulging eyes.
You walk past and the blood shoots out of the rotting heart,
black blood; dragging my face through the drying sand
i catch up, and you gather my limbs and stick them back,
carry me gently to edge of the mud; pour me out.
This resurrection has turned obscene
Perhaps tomorrow the wave will forget
an eye, or perhaps my entire head.
Satanic Jesus, let me die!