let’s hallucinate
in the tired
smoke with no
fire that makes
up this world;
halogen hearts,
fluorescent blood,
phosphorescent skin;
we let the
God-fearing think
that they win;
feel the lack
of well defined sin
as i suffocate
your headspace
and airway
with wedding
white truth;
blood reflects
off the snow;
build me a
stairway to heaven,
auction it
for murder;
live for evermore
on the blood
and flesh of
the son of god;
this world never
believed in death,
or feared life
like it should have.

T. E. Pyrus


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