The Lord divines me
to take your heads between my knees,
and crack them open
like nuts.

To press ink from the grapes of your hopes,
Drain you for my drink.

To use the salt of your tears
to flavour my food.

To decorate the maze of your lives with sharp daggers,
unmindful of the scrapes on my own.

And then.

While you lie sleeping I will
fall to my knees,
let my kohl soil the rivers
left dry upon my cheek,
release the jackal's deathcry
from my battered lungs
(battered body, broken heart)
and rage to the heavens
at the injustice of it all.

For only the cursed
can become another's scourge.