A Prayer For Martyrs
as
i
drink young
saint tales of
martyrs who died in
naked pain degraded before
bully swords and branding irons mocking fresh smooth flesh
their fixation burns bright as allegiance to their gang's fantasy and need to belong
they flashed their tats even portending the passage from
warm air soaked with smells of lilac
to the silent scream
of time dumped
into
black
void
