I run my Cross across my skin;
seams come undone and seep out sin.
Sew it shut with fragile thread
Be still, the movement in my head.
I spin and spin: a roundabout
Balance? I will live without
a sense of where I stand and why,
I’ve tip-toed, crawled, and ran: I tried
I latched on: a lowly parasite
I found my host; feasted on life
I’ve had my fill, so I detach,
detach from life, to death I latch