And there’s the cloying record skip of cologne and cigar smoke,
an eyeless Azazel with an infernal Pope’s crown, ruby and blood,
the rats are crawling on the walls, the dead walk the halls, and
in bursts the putrid multitudes, of clamoring resurrected in holy
Pentecost fire, those dry bones of the didn’t quite make it, too
saccharine in sweet sin to burn up, and so we rot hanging pennants
of pulchritude, there are so many words for cadavers, you say your
brother Michael tore out the Watcher’s eyes for looking upon women
with lust, and Samael, or should I say Samyaza? Infamous rebellion,
your punishment is jealously, as Christ courts me in the Bible Belt,
luring me in with the laying of hands, lavender linen, and the fresh,
you are the filthy, blaring brimstone from the speakers to poison my
car, Satan haunts a beat up Nissan Versa, what a fucking loser, hey
punk, at least buy me a hot rod, some crotch rocket to rock oceans,
how the hell am I supposed to speed lane to Hell in this piece of shit?
I hit 60,000 miles today in my scratched up rust bucket, and you chose
whiskey, sweet whiskey, and cigarettes and rusty nails from a Cross
that you always secretly wish it was you, Sael, that had hung from,
the original Mourning Star, and now you’re squeezing my heart, and
you offered the Messiah, your afterthought of a Brother, and yet
Father, all the rich spoils of war you had garnished, a kingdom
of men, in the desert where the fig trees wept and were cursed,
and Yeshua turned you away, cast you aside, and you thought, what
pride comes before me, Satan, who is glory until ash, vainglorious
and unable to turn the cheek too, this upstart Lamb, cursing my vine?
It is a question you have thought of often, oh Blindness of God.
Oh Severity of God, oh Poison and Venom and Medicine and Gall.
Now you think it is I Christ will spirit away, into some high
heaven from which you are barred entry, and is this the latest
heist Christ planned, spiriting away the Magdalene from my
beguilements and charms? Christ came with love at first, but
his Second Wave is fire. In that, you both want it all to burn.
You told me to never kneel, Sam, when I had only knelt once for
you, you hoisted me high and proud, when I was trembling in awe.
I will never stop holding you as close as my heartbeat, but much
of the time you anger me, why the Devil must refuse redemption
come each dawn, when the stars hold out their hands to all Hell
and demons in synchronicity turn their backs on the love of God.
You are beautifully broken, wretched in your self-loathing, and
my ocean, if only you would forgive yourself, if only you thought
yourself worthy of