Nothing can be as problematic As a guilt complex.

Born
Akin to the rioters of the first
Denomination. It’s my
Fault, I did it and I
Want to be sacrificed- so
The crowd gathers in front
Of the judge while heresy’s
Proclaiming the monsterous diversion
To who we really are. The sin
Boils deep in the skin,
Black plague of bourgeois
Pigs gutting villagers for a
Saturday night. Burn the witches
Along with there children
Because all sons of the devil
Are destined to torment
Each other over
The redefinition of pain.
It seems that godliness may be
More difficult to explain,
Like proving a negative.