A faded red restaurant light
And a
crying girl
On my shoulder which is now
Sore from feeling. I’m numb
And sick of a comforting arm and
plain sick, just plain sick
(a bunch of
crosses on paper, melding together in my
typical tie in arches)
I’m lost amid a sea of crosses
But
christ is not on any of them
It’s robbers only and a
prostitute
And me who all are destined to
Go to hell
But where is christ now when I’m
On a cross? Is he reading my
Book or praying to me. No. I’d
Bet he’s not.