The sun sets. he hangs on his crucifix.
beaten and bloody. his wounds stitched up, keeping him whole.
he cannot speak.
he cannot scream.
silence......
and day, by day, by day he hangs. Crows picking away at his exposed
flesh.but he doesnt feel anything.
becuase he cannot feel.
and he cannot move.
silence....hear it? nothing.
so his head hangs in shame as his blood flows from the wounds. his eyes,
closed can still see it all. when will it end? when will he be free? soon my
dear scarecrow, soon.
but untill that day comes, you are broken.

 
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