Such tiresome exhaustion.
Your spittle on the floor,
your blood in careless specks.
The poise of a man set shortly free.
You screaming like a child,
plastic bagged, and making noise.
Your saliva in the fabric of his jacket.
One man ran you for your bike.
And I ran you for your cigarettes.
Split them between different
and dried palms.

The ache that came with
the soothing of time.
My compassion is farther
and still even farther between.
I can not love with this hard heart.
I can only build a monument
and worship under the cover of night.

A proud heathen in the chapel.

With zeal, I praise and blaspheme.