Monday, July 30, 2012


Into the furnace I fall
But an empty vessel
Soul already captured
By the creatures of Hell
Why was I sent south?
Was I an unholy servant?
Was it just meant to be?
Or was it something else?
I wish for recreation
But torture is ever present
Recreation, implausible
So these lashes I will bear
For being unworthy
Of sitting at God's right hand
In hopes of making myself
Deserving of his heaven

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