I’m faithless and unashamed For God did not give us grief. Love manipulated our trust So that chance could gamble With the futility of our existence, Ripping the tense velcro bonds Of hearts grown together.
I applaud it’s gamesmanship, For it doesn’t laude it in our faces By any means other than simply Gathering the grim and gaunt In coats of greyed gaberdine. Long coats hanging as if empty, Made black from the heart’s rain.
I am faithless and entirely alone, But still gesticulating to the air: An open chested final demand To give back the gift of grief That greeted me at this graveside. Need I be a god-fearing glossolalist To return this heartbreak?
The feathered wings smelt the worst,
Like plastic had fucked hair and created hatred.
The smoke those feathers created
Wrapped itself around every breath
And burned our tracheas raw.
At first, His visit was delightful,
But as judgment reigned on our indiscretion
The townsfolk yelled witch
And bound His wings with the rope
They bound their wives with at night.
We were entranced by the screams
Just as we were oft enraptured in each other’s sex.
Gleefully we cheered melting skin,
And screwed as the fat charred,
Breathing in roasted celestial.
The final flames danced at the messengers’ feet
As townsmen recovered from climax,
And wives licked each other's wounds clean.
We satiated all violent and sexual desires,
The day we set the Angel on Fire.
Burn me to beyond my flesh,
Until charcoal becomes my bones,
Prepared to fall into unskilled hands,
And trace amateur musings on cheap paper.
Remake my ashes into your altar,
Ready to receive sacrilegious homages,
Prayers filled to the brim with debasement,
As you pick your false God, or God’s,
And punish each other for differing choices.
Betray my actions with your memories,
Portray as a fictitious being of your design,
Claim dominion over your perception,
And pass on your contortions to your kin.
Teach them of my misery and woe,
Belittle my mistakes to lowly choice,
A haphazard misstep by misstep,
That led to inevitable brimstone.
Pretend me to be a sinner in life,
And a fiery withered soul in death,
As you picture thick sulfuric gasses,
Turn and swirl in my remnants of lung,
Catching breathless behind my tongue.
But don’t scream when your lack of reformation,
Stemming from absence of self-reflection,
Leaves you burnt on my named headstone.