Whenever I try to look nice
I get told it’s putting lipstick on a pig
But I disagree
Even the most basic hygiene at this point
Is makeup on a pig
My body is full of mud
Made from the dirt in Irish fields
Used over and over to grow the same crop
Until there was nothing of use left
And yielded only sickly produce unfit for human consumption
Mixed with the blood of
Passive bystanders to revolutions
Cowardly watching their deaths waltz closer
Unwilling to walk to meet their fate
Unable to bring themselves up to make a change
So cut a hole in my head
Let the rain wash through
And slice open my toes to let the russet mud flow out
Leaving me empty and new
Sew up my feet and fill me with
Wine blessed by the Pope under the holy paintings of Michelangelo
Because even though I’m atheist
The blood of Christ cannot hurt
But even if the love of Jesus of Nazareth fails me
In will come Dionysus to pick up my wine soaked body
And bring me to Olympus