a bitter thorn

i would like to feel holy.
the vespers inside of me every evening, holds a service.
i never feel alone after the fact of the notion.
i partake of the Eucharist, in my own way.
but every night i feel anathema.
the vespers inside of me feel holy,
but i feel unforgivable.
i enter the cathedral, and i ask about god,
i ask for agape, the thought of which will not be.
that platonic love i want for, that god will forbid.
so i ask for what is above,
to be below, unto me,
and i cancel out the both,
and ask for nothing.
every day i ask to come from the heart
but every day i become a little dark,
my love is just a bitter thorn
and i feel worthless in my love.

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