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Description
there is a darkness that consumes a man
from marrow to flesh and bone to skin as though
a cancer; a tumor raging out of control.
the brush fire rages with the heat of sticks
and twigs and leaves all cast upon the forest floor.

i walk amongst the flames, being charred,
but not consumed. they lick at clothing and
singe the collar of my shirt with something more
than kisses, leaving more than lipstick in its wake.
i drown within it as though drowning within
the seven seas and cast my eyes toward the heavens.

where are the silent statues of godly men
when one is strolling through the valley of
their soul, desperate to find a place to rest?
where is the deity that saints and martyrs gave
their lives for, in the same fires which consume me?
oh, impious one, you bleed so well, perhaps
another pint will do; perhaps another
pound of flesh will suffice to sate the whims of god.

i beg the flames to cauterize me.
i beg the spirits in the astral plane to
depart from me at once; the cosmos to look away.
the eyes of creators and capricious deities to
cease their stern gaze upon an already weary soul.
shoulders slumped can only take
the weight of one cross at a time,
yet you deposit a burdensome load
promising that your grace will be sufficient.

i do not buy it, though. surely you have seen me
break. in the pits of despair. surely you have
seen me succumb to death while being spat back
into the waking world again. away from the
cold embrace of nothingness i seek in the
darkest hours of my existence.
there is no rest for the wicked and no peace for
the devils walking on the face of this mortal coil.

so, look away, you stars and silent ghosts.
look away and cast not another lot for
who will take this soul you fight for.
my rest will be within the dust.
my refuge will be within the lonely crypt.
my knee buckles and the burden slips
only to choke me underneath its cumbersome weight.

Description
there is a darkness that consumes a man
from marrow to flesh and bone to skin as though
a cancer; a tumor raging out of control.
the brush fire rages with the heat of sticks
and twigs and leaves all cast upon the forest floor.

i walk amongst the flames, being charred,
but not consumed. they lick at clothing and
singe the collar of my shirt with something more
than kisses, leaving more than lipstick in its wake.
i drown within it as though drowning within
the seven seas and cast my eyes toward the heavens.

where are the silent statues of godly men
when one is strolling through the valley of
their soul, desperate to find a place to rest?
where is the deity that saints and martyrs gave
their lives for, in the same fires which consume me?
oh, impious one, you bleed so well, perhaps
another pint will do; perhaps another
pound of flesh will suffice to sate the whims of god.

i beg the flames to cauterize me.
i beg the spirits in the astral plane to
depart from me at once; the cosmos to look away.
the eyes of creators and capricious deities to
cease their stern gaze upon an already weary soul.
shoulders slumped can only take
the weight of one cross at a time,
yet you deposit a burdensome load
promising that your grace will be sufficient.

i do not buy it, though. surely you have seen me
break. in the pits of despair. surely you have
seen me succumb to death while being spat back
into the waking world again. away from the
cold embrace of nothingness i seek in the
darkest hours of my existence.
there is no rest for the wicked and no peace for
the devils walking on the face of this mortal coil.

so, look away, you stars and silent ghosts.
look away and cast not another lot for
who will take this soul you fight for.
my rest will be within the dust.
my refuge will be within the lonely crypt.
my knee buckles and the burden slips
only to choke me underneath its cumbersome weight.