the TWENTIETH of APRIL, TWO THOUSAND and TWENTY ONE.

gasoline licks at my ankles. swells up, reproduces, sexual and fucking alluring.
i want to submerge myself entirely, drown my blackened lungs in it. for, perhaps,
the incineration of my erratic identity would cleanse the plague of my ungodliness.
unholiness, the way i devour how His creations rip at the seams, fall apart and turn to ash.
how i can dig my hands into His perfection, twist it's guts all around, lick the residue off my fingers.
manipulation and butchery - a revelation, for me. decomposition and decay - pleasure.
addictive comfort, i refrain from lighting the match.

take me back!