Contemplate the scars
that sit
like tiny red lightning streaks
upon your arms,
upon your legs.
Contemplate
the hands
that put them there.
Your hands.
Contemplate the reasons
why
and imagine nothing
but the quiet red void
that fills
your life with longing.
How you push the people away.
Contemplate the scars
that sit
upon your arms
like a lamb on the alter
and see your hands
stained crimson
with the blood of angels.