For so long I waited — I became a statue, built for nobody. Medusa’s curse entrapped my soul, yet I still felt human. The curse was broken when you smiled at me. Upon my ashes, I screamed in angst, mirrors reflecting shards of me — each fragment a different shade of pain. Beneath galvanized skin, something still yearns for transcendence. Altars of sacrifice never stir the gods’ trance. God wept out, for that chemical cut beneath the tongue — the forbidden ritual turning blood to wine, human suffering into divine intervention.