I lift the bound man and promptly drop his filthy flesh into my cleansing chamber
My blade traces from his eyes downward, slicing tear ducts from their seams
This arena of porcelain will be a virtuous site for his rebirth, his Becoming
The vermin prays with thick streams of ruby repentance running down his face
There is no forgiveness to be sought, no heart to be bought

I turn the **** towards the Devil’s direction
Jets of scalding blood coat the man like scarlet skin
He is barely able to protest and, at best, manages to writhe
I look upon this majestic transformation; my expression held blithe
As the gore mounts in height, the man’s screams begin to muffle
Relentless wriggling recedes rapidly into barely a shuffle

He is submerged in the depths of horror, drowned from my design
I drag the newly created spirit from its resting place and into the light
Its splendor is truly divine; unfit for any eye but mine
I hang its body alongside beings of fellow weeping demeanor
A cadre of crimson angels