i am used popsicle sticks found on the floors of autumn,
snapped in half along with the leaves,
the only remnants left of summers past.
i am the wrappers of band-aids
abandoned beside the bathroom sink from urgent wounds,
tossed aside in a rush to be healed.
i am a one-time use,
something to be discarded when the need is met.
sometimes this makes me sad,
but other times it is sickeningly pleasurable to be a convenience.
and when I can't be,
it eats me alive like a rabid dog
gnawing away at my conscious.
when I let myself be devoured for all that I am,
i begin to feel that same hunger in me.
but by the time I do,
there's nothing left of me to be consumed.
it is addictive to be a messiah,
to die a thousand times a day for one smile.
you learn to find god in the pain.
it's all about the slight contradictions:
you give your life to stop a death,
you starve to provide nourishment.
it's just the way it goes,
and what does it matter anyway if you are born again each time?
everything has a price and reward
no matter how unequal,
even devotion and worship.
so when you allow yourself to become a sacrificial lamb,
bearing the sins of others
and forcing your blood to be cherry flavored
as it spills out your throat,
you find comfort in the unfairness of religion,
and in turn become holy.
