I confess my unfortunate sin
To a tattered priest in a down vest.
No prayer as penance,
But instead a dismissal:
“The love you seek is not free.”
These words, they sting my heart,
Tearing away its flesh
Like a slab of hot ice.
Disheartened am I; nevertheless
I accept my penance
And all its torturous ways.
Three years would pass, with
My hands bleeding from my love rosary
And my flayed heart festering.