The Reach of Resurrection

Deprived devotion, no longer ours to blame. Standing alone, bound to the floor by filth. Picking at the wings of fallen saints, revisiting the depth of hidden scars. Ignoring guidance of those I consider blind while voices echo through me without words. A coffin frozen shut buried just below the surface yet nowhere near the reach of resurrection. Unthawed remains clawing at false halos as an exit from the pain. Following a ghost that carries me on waves of gasoline through walls of stone, with matches clenched between my teeth. Nowhere near the reach of resurrection.