no name #4

if i ripped my veins out of my wrist

and made something to my

likeness, would i finally

be beautiful?

i am no stranger

to playing god, twisting 

fate, so in twisting these veins

is it love that i would create?

i met god once, where every

path met, and we both wept

for the forgotten son

the mercy at our hands

that mercy, trickled out like love

from my gaping wrists

where that path ends

the father silently wept