Fresh scars that I inflicted on your perfect human flesh.
Yet you beckon to me with battered fingers to come and drink from the very lesions I created out of my hate and that blood quenches a thirst I hadn't known I had.
And your body...broken by my selfishness...my spear...my nails...my whip...
And you say, 'Eat in remembrance of me.' So I do. And you sustain me.
(c) 2003 by Alanna J. Rusnak
