The priest stood in the basement there rolling up rolls of intestine and nailing it to thick wall. In the dark, stood child screams, shrill and true as the night before. Blasting their way into a plastic millenium, drunk on the moon and the blue sky, blue sky, where you at? And the two birds, soul, as one heavy stone, feeling awkward, a little awkward. Walking down your spine, the breeze trail. Thoop thoop thoop! A bunch of people stand around and throw stones and kill it all off.

She and the others. Everyone in the party, party beyond recognition, and without consent. Doped up on Christ like. Like smoking stigmata. Relics of history so strong in human influence, if I rolled them up into rolling papers, we would wipe out the human race on blind euphoria.

Face down on the ground, you there. Having your soul snapped with whispered and heavy hitting tears; blowing smoke out your ears with each well timed verse.

Your bleed gets collected and put to good use.