I think I am going up,
The hand sweat trickles
And stiffens a gun;
Do I terrify
The eye pits, the heart.
The beads of hot lead fly
And I, love, and I
Am pure adrenaline;
A new death a virgin
Attended by a black rose.
Oh, and I cry out against it,
I am powerful, but to what extent?
The victim thought he was god,
Never, never will I reach his perfection
Even in a fragment of a prayer.
The holy water fountains are dry
And the sermon is over;
The prison guards are fat like little pigs,
A dark mist has entered my soul,
I enter into an hour of blankness.
Some hard meal,
How yellow are the heavens?
I have eaten a bag of lies;
My little head bulges in a shock,
I smile like a fish.
It would be better if it were alive,
But it’s dead;
They are dragging my body slowly
To the worm cage,
There is mud on my feet,
Thick, red and slipping.
I fall into an earth
Bald and burning,
I cannot undue death;
Stiffened in the throat of a grave.
Copyright © 11/18/18 lance sheridan®