I think that I am dying, right here and right now 

I can picture it all happening like a grainy sepia film 

Except no tragic soundtrack plays in my wake 

The vultures will feast upon my swollen carcass 

                Then spit the bitter flesh out immediately – my body is sick 

                              – diseased – with sadness 

                                                                           drowned in tears and regret that I have been trained 

               to forget trained to blur from memory trained to reduce to I am fine and okay and alright 

​

“Your life is a cruel, helpless joke that the gods made for their own toying You are a plaything, an object crafted to satisfy 

His titanium fist 

Once you latch on to his warmth that he promises will 

                                             protect you, he 

                                                                           destroys you 

​

Worry not, as your absence will go unnoticed 

Do not fret, some shiny new thing will replace you 

She will be absolute, utter perfection 

Until she, too, is not good enough 

               Then she shall be discarded in the same garbage as you, incinerated until she is

                              Garbage like you” 

​

These are the words that the angels said to me 

The angels who are supposed to come from heaven 

The angels who show mercy and love and forgiveness to all 

All, except heathens like me 

​

When my mortal body has withered to dust – and it will, right here and right now

When the vultures who spit out my unmoving corpse and jackals who strip my flesh from bone

Are crowned king, remember my body; drowned in the ichor 

Of the goddess that I could not be 

​

You say that I sin in the presence of seraphim 

And toy with the cherubs of throne 

Yet when angels arrive to destroy the fickle remnants of my soul 

It appears – all this time – I was only a lamb 

​

The innocent, time again, decay 

The gods are silent today