sacrificial altar

Do I think these are just words ?
My mission is nothing less than
to rip this ancient rusted armor
from my huddled coward's form;
to claw away at my conventions,
to savage my guts and scatter them
on the blood-soaked stony floor;
to awaken from my slumber.

These weapons that serve as words.
these surgical instruments with no life,
but to slice my fearful visage away.

My heart cannot be touched
if it's not laid upon the sacrificial altar.
It must be me that chooses this.
It is what I'm here to do

If I choose to slink away
to avoid my destiny,
the altar will be here.
Only my blood will suffice.
Only my heart torn
from it's reluctant breast;
still pumping,
still bleeding out.
Only my heart will suffice.

Do I think these are just words ?
they are the instruments of my salvation.
It must be me that chooses
to lay my heart upon the altar.
No-one else can do this for me.