A twisted roast;
with a contorted face
of agony that most
blur just to taste.

God’s wrath beat fires
through the muscles
of impetuous liars.
Beaming pink like jewels

and impaling the fools
that build podgy prizes
of blood filled sacred pies.
Just for the masses.

Now prodding blackened fat
with a spitting adulation
caressing their tongue
on delicate tender tissue

courtesy of your virtue,
just six months and a quarter
cuz i'm just a pig who
lost life to the slaughter.