Late term abortion, three decades late. Be sure to empty all ten commandments. Into his chest, for only holy redneck terrorism. Can usher in the second coming of the coat-hanger.
Tonight your decadence demands a sacrifice. But attrition never slowed you before. Stepping on faces, tripping over limbs. Fighting the machine gun's attention.
Bitter aftertaste of every exploitation. Chokes me like a mouthful of spiders. Crawling in or out, I don't know. But I kneel to the Gods of nausea. . In moments of reflection upon.