STRΛDIE Forgive Me, Father, I'm Wet

In the cell where the candle barely lives
I kneel before the One who forgives
But tonight, my Lord, forgiveness won’t do
I need something sharper, something crueler from You

Wooden thighs, thorned crown, ribs I can count
Your mouth stays shut — oh how I want it to shout
I drag my nail down the arc of Your side
And something inside me splits open wide

I fuck Your wounds with my fingers, my Christ
I ride the vertical beam of Your life
The cross is my bed, the nails are my rings
Listen — the wet sound my cunt makes when it sings

They gave You a sponge, I give You my spit
They gave You a lance, I give You my clit
Every lash they laid on Your beautiful back
I whip on my own until my thighs crack

Hail Mary full of disgrace
My fingers are buried in blasphemy’s face
Blessed art thou among women, they said
But none of them came on the crucified dead

I fuck Your wounds with my fingers, my King
I grind on the sign that says “Ruler of Everything”
The Eucharist drips between trembling knees
I swallow Your body — but it’s me You please

Forgive me, Father… I’m already wet
There’s no absolution I’d take instead