I am careful as I hold my faith—
its skin pulled taut, forbidden fruit,
a scarlet that could mutilate,
that could stain me in shades of shame.

It rests heavy in my hands,
its weight not mine, but theirs—
the murmurs cast like stones,
the sin they see where I see soul.

Each word I utter drips in red,
the taste sweet yet strange,
like something primal, nearly wrong,
a hunger that’s gentle yet uncontained.
...