I would decline.

He’s singing
About the shortcuts
To my veins

I, too, have known the metallic clang of silver soup spoon on steel-wrapped bars.

Self-pity is a city; lullabies, its slums. I traded love for nihilism, and lest ye be judged, consistently succumbed to the weakness in my blood, a defiance of Sabbaths, embrace of cynicism and language shared by tragic figures. I tolerated psalms and parables as justification for terrible deeds as you took your scissor hymns to […] […]

What might I tell the girl complicit in her own suffering?

Car-chased by
A chariot on fire
Yanked wingless
From the sky

Longing suspending
Warbled Tenebrae in tongues
Fasten mine to yours

Blooming curiosity
Questions unanswered

Sinners go to Hell
They need you to believe it
Mind control at mass

Her life flashed
Before their eyes
To judge

Resentful capriciousness
Nearly rests
As martyred saints
Into statuesque

Seraphim choir
Legends willed to life through praise
Chillin’ with Jesus