This proud building stinks like religion

In a casket

Sweet like rotting passing

Dancing like the grave

When it shatters

When the earth cracks it's wet

Like a necrophillic orgasm

And I hope my blackness meets with maggots

And swerving languid pieces of people

Great trembling and silence

Found in the mud

Sinking down to blazing

Fury is hoping

And sideways comatose is a call to a God

Convulsion is the prayer I see in my nights

I break my fingers against the rock

And bleed a Hebrew prayer

Against my fever:

It stings like masturbation.

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Wow! An incredible piece of writing. I can smell the earth and sweat. I can see the blood that has been spilt over ideological labyrinths. Great stuff Daniel. A myriad of images flashed past

Thanks for the inspiration

Tom

are you gonna be okay?

Powerful! Nice one.

Searing imagery Daniel. As you wrestle with the inner dragon of religion. Or faith . . . in the ironic. Well done for such gritty expression.

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