Promiscuous piety
You, disbelieving preacher,
do not even know what you are saying.
Your inexhaustible litany of excuses
give you a safe haven, your pack of lies
some breathing distance.
The straight line they perceive
you to be is actually crooked,
making a mockery out of
those imbecile cuckolds.
The token redemption that you offer
will not make the strong fall. The same
poisoned chalice by which weak falter
and the tainted bread that you debauch
is returned to the rightful altar.
Two antithetical worlds which you desire
are in parallel dimensions. Unable to
reconcile them both, you stumble down
the lonely track. The cares you once had,
the cares that you saved are now all lost,
lost by your bed
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