Why must your words fold me into
perfect squares?
The creases rip through my wicked world.

Are these only glowing pains,
waning as our anxious bodies flicker
on?

Bleed the fraud
And sentence me.
Damnant quod non intelligunt.

I HATE YOU,
You Pontius Pilate all by yourselves,
And you Sanhedrin when together.

Key silence and caustic colors.
their pupils go in circles, chronically sedating me
these eyes are vagabonds, never steady

Are you always this consistently inconsistent?
When you made man in the image of God,
And women in that of Lucifer?

Whispers and dust choke.
A lull at the line of curiosity,
For the nothingness was a better ending.

Name me if you please,
But there will only be
Dates on my tombstone.