The man who became Christ

to see the hollow like you do
is a different sarcasm than the one i'm used to
to feel the jilt in the blossoming flower,
anything to find a rainbow of black and blue..
parasitical leeches curving on the bend
of remorse, over unending quarrels of hinges,
over unending issues of a saccharine venom.

In the beautiful fangs of the unyielding traitor,
the chasm stretches to become the cusp.
i drink with an insatiable hunger,
the pain of the one who values it more than me.
above the toll bell of the ironic church towers
he stands purged with dripping blood of the man
who was abandoned just when he needed an accomplice.

The graveyard screams extend their chorus into the ears of
your "Christ", the "Jehovah" who was traded in the altars of zilch.
he stands by the gates of disgust with a bowed head.
i sit by the heels of the man who was sold
i drink the sweet venom pouring out of his wounds
he fulfills me in a way that only makes me more thirsty
and i fulfill him to make me feel abandoned the same way.