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Blind Chihuahua

More to religion
than pleasing
your imaginary friend

My head is filled with salted slugs,
silent little screams in their writhing and drowning.
The ooze of their suffering drains through my nose,
tears of pus burst forth the mourning.

My soul is a ripened mass grave,
whispering its secrets through my pores.
Flatulent and busting in decomposition,
a malignant symphony of sounds and odors.

I vomit a worm and it licks my face,
with lust and pustulated tongue.
I curse in the language of the dead,
it spits its venom of acidic dung.

My intestines are loaded with secrets of maggots,
painful explosions from me in legion.
Discussing their plans as they move to the darkness,
I run on fresh stumps to escape the dungeon.

My heart pumps blood that is black with hate,
the collared one squeezes my scrotum.
So hard it gives way with a sickening pop,
blinding pain gives way to the schism.

My eyes have fallen out of their sockets,
lashes blink on nerves exposed.
Repulsive tether balls hang on my cheeks,
gelatinous orbs rest on stubble transposed.

Turned on my stomach by the faceless hood,
sharp nails dig in to my skin.
My spine is pulled out I'm a meat suitcase,
dragged in the dirt of my tortured kin.

I've been dipped in the wax until I harden,
others are with me and set ablaze.
We've been nailed to trees in Nero’s garden,
bubbling and screaming we do amaze.

The Roman Empire has not died,
they persecute the little Christians.
To wear the collar is to serve Caesar,
promise of harm to reveal their intentions.

Look at the man they have created,
they've poisoned the child supernaturally.
The soul is dead and they don't give a shit,
Mind and Soul are the horror, the horror of me.

Self, Soul, Sexuality — smeared.