Exulansis

I don’t remember
Falling, but I still have 
The scars from when I
Touched the hollow earth,
And I screamed Bloody Mary
For God to save me. 

How did you build me?
Did you ransack essence from unholy angels,
And mold a frame that is coarse to the bone
That no one sober would ache to caress? 

Am I only meant for the corrupt?
I fathom that your only purpose is to knead
My dominance into extinction. Exploit my
Hollow and unhallowed cage. Your
Cupidity violates my fresh carcass.

I want to reclaim what’s left of it.
Reconstruct the ligaments without his blood
While scouring for a new skeleton to
Fabricate these new untouchable walls. 

But his hands still lay claim on the plaster
And this old soul house quivers 
When the wind flushes against it like a blanket. 
This house is dissembling burnt church roots
With no vacancy for the pardoned. 

Perhaps someday, serendipity will flood
Through the pipes and cleanse this dwelling
Of the crimson markings that stained its wood. 
Until then, the floorboards will creak and 
I will lay in my bed, writhing. Dreading
The day he returns home to me.