Hecatomb

My body was used for communion

Consumed until there was no more

Flesh or blood to ravage

But I was not an offering

My hair was not lamb’s fur

I was not sent to be Your savior

No plans for me to die for Your sin

All the same, You devoured me

For sustenance

Without my approval

You sacrificed me when You

Knew I was not willing to be

Diminished down to a casual meal

Used my ribcage to build shelter

My hair crocheted into cloth

You strung me up for slaughter

A pool of me for You to

Methodically drag Your shoe through

As You pondered Your victimhood

How unfairly the world had treated You

Nothing good ever happened to You

You’d never made a fault in Your near

Three decades

You pondered Your sainthood as You

Wiped Your mouth of Type A+

(Hope that’s a good strain, Darling)

And when You finished Your pitiful picnic

I kissed You with forgiveness as

You discarded my body with the dinner scraps