PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Awake tormented children
of anarchy, crucify me,
drink my blood to feel
my pain...Slain the meek
with religious fallacies,
their tears and cries will
not resurrect another Jesus,
perish and lament...
Golden pulpits become altars
to melancholy, prayers have
a price, salvation is expensive,
but hell is eternal.
Slice my wrist and let my blood
flow; from the cracks of the earth
newborns will rise with my spirit,
my heart, my eyes, and voice...
immortals.
The core of your thoughts
are rotten like peasants food,
your eyelids stapled, and
through a sliver of light in
between you see the agonizing
reality that is your brothers and
sisters indulged with hideous
beasts, with salivating tongues
that lick the masses brains dry,
secreting venom from their eyes.
Awake to die with me tonight,
between dreams and flights we
will reach heaven, even if we
must cross the nine gates of
hell to get there.