The Lord’s Prayer


Ripped from a cord
still dripping in fluid
Asphyxiated by guilt,
the shame of my birth.

I am cast out by angels
and embraced by the worms in the dirt.
I will not cower
I will not bow my head
to your deities, high on condescending caustic pedestals.
These pews stained in ideals
have never brought me comfort,

For heaven is cold
and I would rather stay warmer
down here on Earth.

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