Whore Mouth

My mind is a dry county,
still the residents complain
Of a looming darkness,
Palpable darkness
Like a plague 
Black saliva that hangs form wicker tendons
A sordid moss that feeds on crops
and leaches their harvest
Fierce dark
Piercing 
Stinging like the second hand
On a waiting room clock

I am accustomed to the stench of my quarantine
Blame it on olfactory depression
Blame it on defeat,
On the innate tendency
To yield
I've build a cloister on a cemetery mound
And this is the hill I will die on
They wont need to parade me out for all to gawk at
For a neighborhood spectacle in morbidity
Just plant me in the red-ironed, hemlock sea

"That wasn't me, that was my disease"
I'm sorry, but I fail to see the distinction

"Turns out it's not all about will power"
The lecturer exalted
"There's a science to addiction"
But of course,
There's  science to will power too

I've grown to resent those who enjoy things
I harbor thoughts of monstrous violence
I ignore those who lend a hand
And I hurl spit at sunlight 
I drink straight from hatred
And I've sunk my teeth in lips
Of her whore mouth
A mouth that thunders sultry,
Vituperative utterances
Verbal savagery 
She curses like God's gravedigger
As impossibly vast nothingness
Stares back at her
And I emulate
Like a timid pupil

Our Heavenly Father is a terrible drunk
Bedeviled by embarrassment
With palsy hands
He crafted us
As an extension
Of his folly

There's no award for your endurance
All this hurt was in vain
And all of your rebellions
Were manufactured