Suicide Christians

I dream of deathbeads,
Waiting to see who goes first.
Powerful, magnetic Christians that believe
In immortality shiver in security blankets,
With crosses embedded,
To repel the black blanketed demon.
It will raise one hand to strike the final blow,
Even when the sick are caught in prayers,
The snow falls on us all.
Regretting spoken words,
Living in the shadows of time,
The only amends spared
Are with caughing of blood.
Their souls are not saved,
And they realize their mistakes.

Two pennies for the ferry man,
Who rides in oil of sunken crosses,
To dock the souls of the heartless,
Who could not understand.
It throws their Bibles into the river,
Shaking It's head in wonder
For the pitiful humans who lost themselves.
On the other side,
The weak will dream for eternity
Of the countless souls
They've raped of their lives.
They will fend for themselves,
Chewing their bones,
Imitating their phantom lymp pain of religion.


In the present world,
They gang up on the aspiring,
Who's dreams are real and not pretend.
Those who think for themselves
Are attacked by vulchers
Who consume the litany of tradition.
Fundamentalists,
Who are brothers of the idealogy of Jihad,
Sticking to the books that kill.
They speak of the end times
Like a recent nightmare,
Portions of truth coming to light.
The uprising of evangelical Islamists
Has come to escort God.