preachers of doctrines
freedom of will purporters
who block your thoughts path
wrath will always surprise them
for their myths are for the meek
© by bg 2021
Month: June 2021
the sell out
as a fetus
they threw me
into
the pits
of
bottomless despair
to be saved
till later
later tills
ring
my fetus dry
KA-CHING
a place
where there was no candy
and
no fucking rum
to soothe my tum
from
green crayon lipstick
kisses
sickness
that stained me blue
they the
OmniOminous
OmnibeneViolence
ones
with their prune
goose bumped skinned
taxidermy genitals
hanging
like dark stretched out clouds
overhead
ready to piss down
oil thicky
sticky juice
into
my lead lined
decanter
murmured
through
charred
teeth gritted smiles
their past sins
were now my
incinerating accounts
OWED
to justify bathing me
in their radiation
treatment
to cure
me of my
freewill
stupefied tumors
befouling my eyes
i stayed
unable to see
myself out
silently slugging out
an existence
by mining
the
maddening depths
of the
lead lined decanter
for all the
embalming fluid
the decanter caught
from the above
booming
incoherent babbling
indoctrinating
spittle
that slid down
to puddle
in the
evaporated
tear acid
deficits
i etched
before i lost my eyes
by and by
stripped
of my
amniotic blanket
by
priestly time's
wriggly maggot hands
and just
to feel warm
and must
as a beast
feel warm as ice
as a least
i would soak myself
into
the embalming fluid
to weigh myself down
to turn
my hard
driedfried
out fetus shell
into
angel dust
as
KA-CHING
i sold out
to a
higher dealing authoritative
© by bg 2021
cold turkey
on the abyss endless steppe
i stood
watching my soul evaporate
as i breathe out
trying to warm
my cold cold hands
galloping past
a crow caws at me
from the back
of a wild pale horse
heading east
towards the river styx
i continue west
a pack of salivating wolves
orbiting
my cold turkey aura
i am unconcerned
the insulated hut
was claustrophobic
better
to be out in the wild
free of feeling lost
trying to act
civilised
or
as some
propagandist
call
religious
anyways
i could still see the abyss
through the huts
blood stained
macabre
glass windows
with the clawed tattered
thermal
hell fire red
curtains
i could still feel the abyss
sighing
through the floor cracks
whistling
through the keyhole
waiting
for the frozen tundra
to melt
within the
crematorium
before
the abyss
freezes over again
my crushed
ashes
absorbed
into the frozen tundra
better
to ignore the gods
numbered
pebbles
to walk the endless abyss
to allow
the soul to evaporate
far
far beyond the reach
of the
doctors
the
priest
and the
spiritual nets
that'll
take your gold teeth
to cradle you
in highly perishable
myths
i continue to walk
beyond
the river styx
only
breathing out
only
breathing out
so as not
to
inhale the gas
to choke
within
the gods
bricked retort
© by bg 2021
resurrecting the trashcan bard 