Custom Made Backstabber

paralyzing prophecies sleep in the throats of saints who spun the sun while time
stood, stood still the dreaded tears of the spiritual have reduced the angels
to rust who in turn gouged their eyes blind with sharpened halo’s.the sky rained
down
smoke on their heads and they fled to hide their shame in the shadows of wings.
thieves on the thrones had no trouble wishing slumber under plastic crowns as they
mocked deadly desire. bookshelves of blank pages bibles lined the trophy rooms
of third class gods who had no history. they were messiahs in no ones eyes,
not even
blinded angelic ones. they begged to hang on homemade crosses and spit at the
onlookers who bit their tongues behind smiling lips. and they fled to hide their
shame in the shadows of wings. satisfaction the size of cathedrals blanketed
their
wounds from view and not a word was said because we knew that both the mime and
the martyr helped us buy the nails.