when will there be mercy from the long and punishing arms of religion?

for it would be the same to hold you in my veins until the pain of gravity dissipates to leave you free into the milky white skin of the mothers arms to start again start again start again.

this up and coming youngster looks in my swollen eye for 1.3 seconds and spits out some name of no intelligence nonsense, says i've pterygium and dances away in his frippery white frock, then they have taken my money and i am wandering about thinking on losing sight and stepping into endless night but mostly how it would feel to puncture the orb and erase the memory of all the things i should not have seen while learning how to fly.

for it would be lost among the brilliance of the demented stars shining heavily from across the sea, this, this, this little legerdemain, as the bloody spot on the greasy dog who spends copious amounts of dedication to lick, lick, lick while time passes in great enormity to calmly snuff out the last vestige of beauty and grace, catchable in brief forms when juxtaposed with lurid pigs. i am happy. i have spoken and have reached an orifice of memory to sleep now the dreams of the dead. and i am happy.