It’s more to me and the world,
these words. So much elite and languid,
reverent and soiled by my faith. Where the
army is only ants and the killers only
bees. Where love needs only to be tasted
to be found on the tip of your tongue
to be found. We trample through it, tasting
nothing but agony, spitting our
acidic love on the ground. Killers and armies
we are. We gag on our own words
and wicked curses, seeking to consummate
our carnal lust for the world, lust for
our vengeance, lust for our freedom from our confinement
to humanity.
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