So
You'll wash your hands?
Ridding it of my sin?
But truly funny how my sin spreads and sticks
And sticks
To you
My ink stains your peace
Immaculate in its pristine glory
Where inkjets spit and taint Holy Grounds
That those like you have claimed their own
That those like you have used as a hunting ground
Hunting that which seems perpetually buried in ink
What fun!
To have The Devil cheer you on
To have The Devil on your team
What fun it seems
To cover ink with red
Smearing it on tortured bark
But trees provide no leverage for me
Net only snapping sticks and crushing stones
God the astute brute you are!
See
To you the thrill tastes like salvation
Providing a perverseness so sweet
Grins slick with enmity
For me
But I fear not the chasm of you, gluttonous hunter
For though your atonement in Hell's jaws
Doused with ink
Dethroned
And mocked to nothing
Does not calm my wavering essence
Does not remove the crimson stains
My brother now need not follow my path
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