Hollowed

I was sent to burn.

Wrapped in red silk and oil. Trained to kneel. Offered to a god who never came.

But the fire didn't take me.

He did.

He doesn't speak.

He doesn't kneel.

He doesn't save.

He watches.

He binds.

He anoints.

He ruins.

And somewhere between his silence and my ache, something sacred was born.

I wasn't made to be saved.

I was made to be kept.