sitting in the blood-red
belly of the Beast,
you hear, you feel it roar.
and as you cross that line,
finally, once again,
the heavens open.
Downpour.

red. red. you feel it, you bleed it, you are it.
if we are to do this,
if you are to bleed.
let it be on your soil. in your home.
let you clean the blood from your carpet this time.

not mine. not anymore. it will stay white.
you do not get a say in this.
not with so much unsaid.

it is too bad, I cannot say
'forgive me, just for an hour?'
no matter how much I wish you could.
it is too bad.

you, similarly, cannot say
'unforgive me, for a while longer'
no matter how much I wish you could.
(no matter how much you wish you could do so.)

so you say my name.
whisper it, even.
kneeling. kneeling.
and in this dim lighting
it sounds like a prayer.

like a tide changing,
the anger fades.
slowly, slowly.

you have poured holy water on me.
and it is boiling.
i have sat there
and accepted this
for a very long time.
it has taken years
for the kettle to empty.
it has taken longer still
for the burns to scar
then heal
then fade.
Salvation.