Martyr

Tired

of looking to you

As some kind of saviour

Some kind of kindred spirit

In which my solace might reside.

 

The truth is,

while I was submerged, going under

you were crouched in shallow waters

pretending to drown,

to be torn asunder

 

You, a magnetic messiah

 

lapped up all my secrets

saved them for tomorrow

and cast them

as echoes

in your wily scenes of sorrow.

 

You wrote to me swan song,

A mirror to my pain

But the lines were just the remnants

Of my chewed up , spat out grief

That you borrowed for your gain.

 

And I say that you’re a charlatan,

A liar, and a thief

But still,

a lingering gospel, I live by your words

Waiting to be saved

 

Me, the lunatic apostle.