Drop the weapon; calm yourself.
Your victim is resting in the corner,
The Lord will be his only mourner:
Go to Hell, Christ, go to Hell.
A crooked smile flickers;
Remnants of euphoria
Flirt with nausea –
Jubilation at its finest.
A pitter patter in my ear;
The gentle cries are all I hear.
A knockety-knock in my head,
Poor mister conscience is dead.
Taste buds explode, hallelujah!
Succulent ichor oozes;
This godslaughter confuses,
My unbefitting audience.
‘Let the dead bury the dead’
But no man shall undertake,
For fear of the devil’s snake
And wrath of an insecure god.
Created: 31st March 2014