My Christian Death

Deep imbedded in my dirty sullen skull
lay a dusty big black bible, which is null

I never understood the verses or the saints
let alone repetitive prayers to some statues
guilty of touching my body parts would taint
the never-ending filth-ridden cycle of torture

I questioned it and was told just read more
and beg for forgiveness for just being born
unite with christ; since I was a sinful whore
I had to find Him; I knew not how far to go

See I didn’t know he lost; I suffered the dread
and pressure to believe a story above my head
and threats of bloody hell if I didn’t feel scared
I did not; burned my soul into an arising death