This is the way  a prayer goes:
you are on a bed of hemlock and aconite; your soul is ravenous. You look at your hands and see it all – past muscles and sinew, your blood is too red, it burns your eyes. Your sharpened teeth in a mad smile brought by dissolution, the light so unbearable it blackens the rest. A word by clueless word, you offer it all to another: it is taken as if it were gold.