I huddle quietly in God's blind spot. Hoping to avoid his gaze. But he knows of my heartache, despite his refusal.
I see my funeral pall unfurled and crisp. I become gorged on religious gloom, and send my sour prayers to a god dimissive of my endless pain.
My soul unloved, and rejected, smiles and reeks of old lovers.
She bathed in mockery and a grey silence, laughs at my false heart. She is as the silk girl bringing gold, both beloved and bitter.
Long before the mighty squires of Athens fell, she was wise with a saber. Now her path littered with the faces of the nameless, and godless.
But I still fortune's fool, entombed and tottered in guilt, stand inside of Hell and stroke the ring of Lucifer.
-Johnny V.
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