Black, filth, absolute destruction
pogrom seed scatters ill will
with it desire so shallow.
Dank, dark, semen-stained pages
Grotesque biscuits in a rusty barrel
Devils supper banquet burns.
Wasted decay of teeth sharpened
bleeding gums whisper scorn
and spittle cold tastes like death.
The black cross inverted
the inside perverted, sex rites
follow-like Dantes Inferno
Fulfilled by a terrible rhythm
Daily. Scoured clean. What
remains? And will it ever be seen?
The orange glow of success
is the same hue as hell’s furnace.
And we always ask for more.
Written originally for another site, but still mine!
© 2017 Andrew Watkins