Sacrilegious, you have been warned

Genie

Maybe we’re all cigarettes

Dangling from the mouth of God

Inhaled, repelled in turn

As his lips caress our temples

Holds our asses to the fire

Yes, our butts are gonna burn.

I am the arson’s silhouette

As gods hold their cattle prod

Yes, our butts are gonna burn

And we’re all outta turns

No tickets left to remedy

To escape the brand we’ve earned

Man, our asses gonna burn.

How the hell is heaven here

When hope’s not near at hand

They tell me there’s a Lord above

In a wholesome promised land

But I ain’t seen a doorway

And all my petitions spurned

The arsonist is burned.

Everything is unlearned,

Yes everything is burned.

Maybe we’re all silhouette’s

Dangling from the minds of gods

God I hope his face is turned

Or our asses gonna burn.

I hope that all our soured ash

Is slowly being churned

Into something better

Than this disgrace we’ve earned

That there’s a phoenix in these urns

Cause if you cannot find a door to heaven

You burn in through the floor

And all my excuses will take their turn

When everything is burned.

To Be Perfect

Canopy and Void

Both from and held to the fire

To be revealed as shadow

An insubstantial wraith

A fallen angel

With wings of failed achieving.

Captive to both truth and liars

Enslaved to my religion

Entangled and concealed

Wholly revealed

To be partially deceiving.

Unsealed and now unrolling

To be seen and fully shown

A landscape without creature

Without feature

Pride’s rivalry to be played.

Stripped naked by the tolling

Bells of time, now fully known

To be re-imagined

I am to be unmade

Thereby to be made. 

It's Only A Problem If They Catch You

Hit and Run

I see faces full of empty places

Almost as though God did not

Connect the dots, perhaps forgot

When making rocks instead of souls

To fill our animated corpse.

Our marble animus, of course

In perpetual repose

For what we truly fear the most

Is being happy.

There are other people’s rules

For their own unique successes

Other people’s sympathies

Encouraging our excesses

As though if we add another bill

Our hopes and dreams fulfilled

In meeting arbitrary expectations.

When in reality and truth

We’re skin on a tin roof

Blistered from the heat

Of our own internal ire

Hold our statuary to the fire

Until our souls are nearly ash.

As we add another debt

Another hope is let

To pay off what we thought were

Our souls rise in smoking spires

And our dreams, our funeral pyres.