My insides are leaking boiling fluid;
Its effervescent composition makes me feel lucid.
The singing mesh, spilling forth from a necrotic laceration;
The gaping orifice stigmatizing all those seeking divination.
Striving to be passive and lame;
My life is but a pawn of God in his game.
This is my test; something I can only lay myself to fault:
An impossible hurdle, too high to vault.
What caused my incessant pain?
Will there be any true gain?
From the tongue of Great Abaddon I have been delivered to martyrdom;
Driven by the lord’s chariot and bound by the bane of freedom.
The softened face of God looks down upon me in pity;
From His mouth come intoxicating promises of his heavenly city:
A veritable paradise forged from my own desire
Yet choked by weeds of lies and forgotten in a dreadful mire.
The watery grave of my idealism; a mere shard of the grand mirror,
Daintily dancing on the tongue of a sea terror.
The fangs snap shut
And I crawl back into a world of smut.
Angels and demon