Wicked

Swallow the cap of bleach
and hide the poison you take
every day
so you can afford
to kill yourself.
Evict the yellow blood.

Make salvation
tenderly,
then sit it in the corner
in a dirty onsie,
while you fill your home
with hellfire money
and sickness.

Drink deep of pleasure
whenever you want,
pretend to call it
‘love making,’
then make no promises.
Run for it.
Because no one stays
the same.

And while you’re at it
lie.
Because you were never hurt
by someone hiding
the truth,
ever.

“Change” says God,
but oh, how dare He!
How dare anyone tell you
to change,
because they don’t understand
the need for poison,
the blood in your toilet,
the shrinking baby,
the loveless romance,
the lack of truth–

They have no right
to say
‘wicked.’

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