I bare witness to my own sickening dreams. I bare my blemish and bare your iniquty. Uncover thy nakedness. "Their blood shall be upon them." For the gaping wounds we have suffered at the blood-drenched hands of Christ. Rip the paper wings from their gleeful angels and freeze their ideals as shards of ice. Oblivious to defeat, weakness is cherished. Do not come to me with weeping... with tears. My altars are of blood, my gates of flesh. Come to me with sanctity of truth, be it l*** or love. No words exist for being this... no gestures of arthritic hands or curved spines, no expressions of pious, aged brows or down-turned heads. We are 20th century lepers cast out into a swarming mass of prejudiced fools... but be aware of how familiar I am with my enemies.
How lovely it must be for your kind, to remain ever blind. Through the same course of my years, through the sacred moralistic path of jade, I will return to the thrid factor, the Eastern triangle on which I tread. And the third becomes the pinnacle of light, the singular source of wanton need. An uncaring god sends me a riddle. "Choose, my son." My guess was lost by con(science). Now you expect worship? If I save praise you will take away the wrong and leave me stark raving rabid insane... with nothing. Nothing, but my disease ridden thoughts that tell me I must hate you, always testing to see my failures ravage me... but here, here, here is where your lie ends, for I can not, will not, hate that which I have not first loved.
How lovely it must be for your kind, to remain ever blind. Through the same course of my years, through the sacred moralistic path of jade, I will return to the thrid factor, the Eastern triangle on which I tread. And the third becomes the pinnacle of light, the singular source of wanton need. An uncaring god sends me a riddle. "Choose, my son." My guess was lost by con(science). Now you expect worship? If I save praise you will take away the wrong and leave me stark raving rabid insane... with nothing. Nothing, but my disease ridden thoughts that tell me I must hate you, always testing to see my failures ravage me... but here, here, here is where your lie ends, for I can not, will not, hate that which I have not first loved.