I am anti-matter.
Trending on Twitter.
Shooting a guest-spot on Two-and-a-Half Men.
A five-dollar foot-long
meal-deal of a man,
long on propaganda
while short on substance;
A School-House Rock rendition of
Aspiration Asphyxiation
penning love-letters to Jesus
beneath my breath
to abate the sensation that I'm just
redundant protoplasm
with a pecker and a pocketbook
failing to distract myself from the fact that
every intake of breath is a death sentence.
I have no praise-worthy abilities.
You can't **** your way into heaven.
Satan himself
caught a better break being
cast out of the kingdom--
there is certainty in condemnation.
Those poor souls who harbor
the illusion of indemnity
through faith in a
purportedly magical Jew
truly are the blessed few
not via the Lord's redemption, mind you,
but by the thoughtlessness of their devotion.
Perhaps the two are tantamount to one another.
The ****** are so labeled
because we question ceaselessly--
curiosity is no comfort.
Should the sun burn black,
the world will go cold
or
some star-burst might
scorch our galaxy clean
of all delusions of eternity.
The meek can inherit the ashes.