They found her hands still folded in the garden
like she’d concluded a prayer mid-breath,
Bible laid open and torn on the kitchen table and nobody else was left,
The preacher testified she’d been speaking in an unrecognized tongue before the teeth went black,
And when the blood ran laterally up the walls she never once looked back.
His eyes were processed glass when the lights arrived,
claimed a voice directed every sin,
Said it whispered through his ribcage
like a specific serpent carved beneath the skin,
The prosecution framed it as a disorder, but the jury just went pale and still,
When the lighting failed
and every crucifix in the room exhaled against its will.
The devil made me do it, but I smiled through every instruction I obeyed,
There’s no divinity behind the curtain, just the inventory of deals you made,
I kissed her wreath of thorns, held her hand through every court proceeding,
The devil made me do it — and I operated without any grieving.
The property is boarded but it vibrates like it holds the memory of each scream,
A child drew a specific inscription where the evidence dried into the beam,
They say she walks in backwards now with knuckles
where her eyes were meant to be,
And laughs like every confidence that the underground set free.
If transgression is real, then I’m its working hymnal and its score,
And the divine flinched first when she opened that specific door.