Ash
Scraping onyx from my hollowed bowl,
In the reeking resin I'm mummified,
Or unable to scream what's only been whispered,
Then addition usurps me from lucity's eye.
As an atheist, however, I'm content with scaling
In those recurring choices that lead to damnation.
So the picture of Jeses prays backward.
Swollen crucifi: upside down fashion.
I enlighten at once, both pipe and I.
Oh luminance from Bic's mighty torch,
Providing discordant hellish luminance
Despite the coming stoned ebony coach.
While sould are grilling in brimstone kilns
Mines shall traipse, high, through the devil's parlor.
He'll hug his new son. I'll pass him my bowl.
And we'll stink, all-too-hell, Elysium's pallid ardor.
by Groge Christ
