Suicide.

Image from suicide.

Why can't I treat this like poetry? Just take a razor blade between my fingers and slash it across my wrist;Watch blood gush like a stream of red wine down my arms; Can you tell the difference between the smell of fresh blood from cheap perfume?

Why can't I treat this like any other activity?

I could throw myself off a cliff while whistling;
I could jump off the bridge, laughing in the nude;
I could dance across a busy street while the traffic lights turn green;
I could drink poison, pretend it tastes like honey.
I could drive my car blind-folded as if I am riding a plane
I could speed around a dangerous curve and crash into a tree.

Why can't I treat this like religion?

I could light candles and burn incense at the altar
Recite the rosary a million times backwards, swear upon the bible
I could even emulate Jesus by walking bare-footed on water
I could climb the railings of an eighteenth floor apartment balcony

And step out into thin air.

Witch.

Image from geocities.com

A communion of souls
Took place between
A holy man
And impious woman
In a painter's dream
Two fires fused
Into one body
One blood
This dish was
Relished in a banquet
Of lust
The painter begun to paint
Two images of horror
Emerged
In bright, luminous colors
A witch
Set a-flame
Found refuge
In the arms
Of a man
Who is
The karmic replica
Of Jesus Christ.