Vengeful god (a poem)

I am the vengeful god of this body. 

Street art in Paris

I say burn, and it charrs like a lit cigarette pressed against bare flesh. I say shrink, and it tastes of the empty dreams of dead children. I say live, and toss decapitated daisies into the frothing sea. I say heal, and my bedroom carpet is saturated; my crimson blood oozes between pale bare toes. I say love, and the flickering fairy lights draped across my bookshelf twists into a noose. 

There is only one God who can bring the dead back to life.