Tiny birds carry hot stones.
ready to burn the ground.
mountains turn to cotton wool
and people fall dead like butterflies.
The waves roar and the children drown
like in my religious text books.
Black bridge over hell
Sharp like a sword
Thinner than a strand of hair
Torn into seven.
Strike a balance
because if you fall
Get ready for animalistic demons.
Get ready for the torture on rotation
Get ready for your crotches to burn
and itch over and over again.
Get ready for your breasts to bleed
I can hear the crackling whispers
From a throne that tempts
teases and then rolls back in laughter.
This ugly deal
makes no sense.
The tying of lived bodies aching in everlasting oil.
While the white light papers fly in the wind
There will be a huge blanket of green
thats coats all our bodies
as we wait
in a sick thick moss lullaby
For a rusty pair of scales