At a seaside home for convalescence, I took his name in vain during piano lessons. Three nuns like shadows came and dragged me up the stairs, then beat me black and blue with my book of prayers. I closed my eyes until they were gone and then fell asleep with my headphones on. I fell asleep with headphones on. I dreamt about poetry and woke up on the floor... You were our patron saint yet still they blame us for only praying to be famous. Is Nothing worth dying for?