35

i think screaming its a silver lining to hatred
its vocalization exercises like those that keep me breathing
under the weight of gallons of processed ideals
and prized women flanking their adversaries.
youre useless. the image of ant lions clawing your skin
is forever scorned by the fire you breath beneath the sheets
male skin stretched across your back, beneath your feet
tread with stiletto heel, and Achilles mentality
because youre so frail
a battle won is a revenge impending
heat struck and taken aback by dementia
you'll die before my spawn have reached their fullest
meek hunger and weak engorged
the suit you follow, the traffic you stop
the deserts you water, the glaciers you melt
knee deep in your own intestines
wary of the last supper becoming the death of your smaller size
you've broken bread with god and you're afraid of image
i'm afraid youre mistaken
because this wine
it's your own fucking blood, and the coming stigmata
its your own grave
and this bread
its your own salvation
but what do you care?
i've nailed crosses to your back because I want religion to wash away
with all of the disrespect I hold for your kind
floating through eons, a host for bigger parasites