Like a henchman

I subscribed to my ideology

A rose that blushes gluttoned on anthocyanins

Lust filled me – only to drain me

The master in need of a fix

Beautiful wings of fluttering butterflies

That settle on my crowning rosette

A victim of salvation; of echoes of earth-shattering freedom

Holding on to the vigor of youth – petals of my brawn

And emptying sin down black holes with no names

Tormented by maddening chemicals

The fertilizer to my lustful self

As I carried my sins for humanity to see

A sculpture of thorns in the scripture of lust

Who could turn innocuous water to red wine

Blood that rises to kill all traces

Of sanity and sainthood

For no man is a rose without thorns

Not even Jesus