“You know you’re going to hell,”
he said with a smirk.
“Yep, and have been since the day I was born.”
“Well at least you’ve got a destination.”
Tell me about it.
Head out first
hand on heart
gills on throat
lie on lips,
christened with the blood
of innocence slaughtered
by a dozen--
and two thousand years.
Bent by dogma
cannibalizing their savior
and serving him with
tea cozies and two dollar wine.
Strive for the best
even though you’ll
never achieve it
it’s impossible
only GOD can do that
stop whining
claim your consolation prize
Oh look, it’s heaven,
held up by balloons
and supported by clowns
in black costumes serving
suffering like meat and potatoes
and Life: the Placebo.
Fuck that.