You're begging me
to throw up all my beliefs,
and swirl about the feces of
a desperate escape.
And you think I love the pain
because I do.
Die, die, die,
just to make it a little easier
to hang up the telephone.
If I agree,
perhaps God will cease to hate me
and throw one less nightmare
down my clogged-drain of a throat.
I love the pain
and so I scream.
