My God

The silence echoes; this is a holy place.
I kneel at your feet, the salt of my tears stinging my open wounds.
I worship at the alter of your body, freely offering blood and tears for your palette.
It is time to start the service: my whimpers are your humble prayers, my screams your reverent hymns.
The drum of the whip, the chain, the knife, the paddle, and your hand-oh, GOD your hand!-against my skin are the sermons, and my skin memorizes every one.
Soft rustle of denim and I'm fed my blessed sacrament.
Take me down to your temple; I'll go as low as you desire.
My body is my sacrifice; hurt me as you wish.
My Lord, my God.
I am yours.

It's been a long time since I've been to church.
Laters