A man betrayed by a friend returns to his friend's graveside

Because you're dead, I'm alive.
I told you that would happen
if you could not be trusted.
I hope you like these plastic flowers,
frayed and faded in the wind,
dust devils dancing on your grave.

The rattle of chains, my wrists braced
in steel as I kneel, neither of us
will escape prayers unsaid,
my knees cut on rocks
and I wish you were here to see
plastic flowers and listen
to whispered confessions
of broken promises.

Can you see me through your mask of dirt?
I want you to look at me one more time
so I can see your tears
or mine will freeze
in the moment when your eyes
surprised,
watched me pull out your life
on a knife covered with your sins.

If it comes down to you or me,
I told you
it would never be me.
If you had kept your promise,
I would never have kept mine.

Chains rattle as I pray
to Our Lady that she might curse you
and that you burn until your charred skin
sloughs away from your bones
so you can feel
my tears cut you like glass.