(no subject)
Imagine yourself at the foot of the cross, you stare at the ground infront of you in disbelief. Then slowly, painfully you begin to llft your head, you continue to look up until you see the pale flesh of His twisted feet against the splintered wood. The spike that pierces them is covered in blood, some of it already dried and dark, some of it fresh from the tearing and stretching of tissue every time He pushes up in order to breathe. As your eyes coninue upward, you are embarrased at His nudity. Your eyes are drawn to the wound made by the soldier's spear. His side scarred and bruised from the flogging, and skin hangs in ripped places from purple and black lines. Your eyes travel to His face. He is hardly recognizable. His beard is matted and stained from places it has been pulled out. Blood, sweat, and tears leave trails across His face... and those horrible thorns. The worst thing of all is the pain is all in his eyes...