Unholy

They say it's the fear of God
In your bones, that's why you're so...
Strong, I suppose. Hard-hearted.
A walking contradiction if truth must be told
From the lips of a liar

You say you've found solace
Safety in curls of ink from the hands
Of saints, of scholars, of deities
Yet taken from the pillars of sinners and fools
Your mouth spits salt

Numbers scratched on palms
Black ink. Red ink. Chapters. Verses.
Smudges of misinterpretations
A page-turn like a knife
And I'm suddenly the criminal