Sickness is a place in each other’s mouth,
And alike it all, you’ve shown a trace of a future,
Unclean upon the crawling filth,
Upon the knees of some horrid Monarch.
He’d shown no kindness,
It was as the books had wrote,
He believed in worships too unclear to see,
And made things simple in driest notes.
Whoredom is the world with entertainment
Combined with the illness
I am in love with my Hell,
My place made in paradise,
My utopia of a mind,
Formed as great disgust to my kind.
I splurge as much as I urge
Others to eat from my plate.
I play a game of marvelous Christianity,
Upon the disuse of a man called ‘agony’.
There is desertion next to me,
And her voice is the blizzard upon the desert,
The coldness upon the dryness,
The death upon the infertile,
And her tears come down as meteors,
Though, fire would not create the lust
Needed for a rain of seeds,
To sprout green from the white, miserable sands.