Parable of Crucifixion

The awesome pic by <3BlackRoseOfDeath erm...which I have used without asking ^^; my bad. Also, this is gonna be the last one from me for a while. I cannot write anymore. This is not goodbye, this is hiatus.



There is a church steeple where the atheists
gather around and inhale toxic fumes
while the gospels retract before your very eyes.
These stonewalls breed hypocrisy.

A prison cell. This is hell. I cannot breathe the
sweet apocalyptic incense. My head feels
murky as the dense dank water in the loch
outside. I cannot sit patiently. I feel the angry
swirling obscurely in my arteries. My heart
is the beating drum. How can it control
my emotions when it is a dictator?

I cannot understand it. My mortal enemy
stares back at me sullenly from the pool,
a mirror of mercury. The haggard face
states my own sympathy for myself.
What have I become? A sarcastic wreck.

No longer a saint; no longer that angel of mercy.

A whore.

This church will fall and tumble and explode
into a million fragments of industrial diamond.
Not beautiful, but yes, yes practical!

How delightful. What a ball to
punctuate each November frost. The
depression of my compulsive nature.
The pinnate spiders' webs congregate
and celebrate the annihilation of
another mere heretic.

Et toi? Les etoiles sont morts à toi.

My blood is thickening and turning
into glycerol. I feel like I am weighed down
by a thousand comets hurtling down
on my whipped and bruised back.

They are feasting, you know. In honour
of my cynicism. I smell the burning
sanity and the charring of justice.
These little smiles you bring are like
shields from the ever-heavy present.

I feel the barbed wire crown upon my head.
It pierces holes to allow them to drain my brain.
Such a pathetic crucifixion. Where is your blood money
you traitor? I sense the whiskey running through
your veins. I scorn you. I hope your fields of barley
and rye die, like I will. Punishment is so
subtlety sweet, you do think?

You would, you would.

This was such a slow execution,
it ended like suicide.

'My blood is thickening and turning
into glycerol'.

'A prison cell. This is hell. I cannot breathe the
sweet apocalyptic incense'.

'How delightful. What a ball to
punctuate each November frost'.

I'm absolutely in love with those lines especially, but again, I'm blown away by the entire thing. I think you really are one of my favourite poets on here. You have this style that I recognise with so much, the words you use are amazing beyond belief.

I love you.

*cries over hiatus*

"A prison cell. This is hell."

Oh my, I love you. This poem is simply amazing. Oh and I love the beginning too.