Sometimes I lie

sometimes I lie,
I bite myself–forking:
You’re saving souls from fire
and day to day desolation,

and for a moment, the fangs are enough
to not slit my scaly skin,
ignoring others’ bleeding,
like me! in self-pity,

tragedy keeps me humble–thirsty
to stare, into cringes and dying corpses
decaying on the desert, I swivel on
with no eyelids I cannot cry.

but the sun still shines
behind clouds and over sandy mounds–
burning yet basking! and the cross
is enough tragedy to get me through.

Altars and bedposts

Self-pity, slave to redemption,
relishing in sin, resolute on change
gripping altars and bedposts–
Oh, the place of forever forgiveness:
begging for another antithesis of happiness,
seduced by clean slates and benevolent determination
yearning to scrawl dirt on this dead man’s walls
emphasizing my empathy for the lonely,
you forgive my forever forgiveness
or chalk another tally of public propitiation?