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.