I sit here waiting on Your shelf,
While You put Him on that pedestal

You come in bruises and tears
Your swollen eyes have that look
In seconds, I am in your hands

You have new needles, You have new pins
My button eyes and stitched frown
cannot express My anguish

No matter how battered and mangled My body becomes,
no matter if I fall apart,
You still find purpose in what you do to it

Before, I offered My flesh to You;
I devoted Myself to what heals You

But when will I heal?
I would have turned back the Hands
I would have made Him give You His Heart
The tears He made You cry, I would have cried them for You
I was Your adherent, who would take any pains from You

Now it’s over
You may have new thread
You can stitch Your Heart time and time again

There He will be on His pedestal
Stealing My words, tainting them as He has tainted My Name,
to veil Your punctures, Your wounds, Your trauma
And You will let Him stitch You up

But now I have the scissors
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