He took it as a sign of weakness.
His loneliness opened up like a carapace
For all to violate
Rape the carcass; what good does it serve
You?
His evil has become your entertainment,
Spectated by sparkling severed heads
Gawking and begging for the next
Evil cock to fill it.
Fucked and bound.
He
He means no harm,
He is the son of man’s regression,
Begging for a sliver of audience
Puckered audience sitting down with
Navels pronounced, belly-opened chasm.
Whose daughter is this?
Whose daughter is this?
Sweetly serenading you with
The profuse sweat of a cooked bible
Hocking enamored breasts with
Another feeble attempt at intellect
He is you.
He is you.
He is the man, the being, the bastard mistake
The fat man who crying, hedonistic
He is the crutch with which you build
This shiny sparkling tapestry on
He is your abused martyr.
Let’s us bow now and…no!
Celebration is for the weak
He took it as a sign of weakness.
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