Christian
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How much bloodCan erase the letters on these worn pages?I have become something elseTo the bitternessOf one heart, written in the soil,Of one droplet of crimson,Fed to my mouth.He glistens on the cross,He stays there,Sheltering his own eyes with the sun,Finding a place where I cannot runTo make my home. Upon my knees,Stranded in senseless
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“Men are each wound on Christ’s form, and each droplet is the renewing of any heart having bled enough to either love or commit a murder; in both forgiveness and committed atrocity, that is what Christ reveals. The pain it requires to love and the resentment it requires to slay.” Woman is a creature of

