Time to Pray for Those Perfect Hypocrites

It’s Sunday…

And I need not be reminded that I’m a sinner

Because so is everyone else.

Trust me,

I have enough love and faith in the Lord

To leave you licking your own latent lament

For pushing your pompous pleadings upon me

Only to linger in livid lucidity to wonder why

Those woeful words wilt your will of reason

And fall on deaf ears…

Yet, here I sit on this rigid requiem

Of dead trees and ideals

Fashioned to remind me

Why I shouldn’t listen to this hypocritical hillbilly

Violently vomiting his idea of divinity

Onto droves of starry-eyed sheep

All while single-handedly hurling hellfire

Hotter than the blonde in front row

That he is having an affair with.

Sipping on the Holy Spirit

That speaks through the secret flask

From the folds of his jacket

Preaching another penance provoking pathway to perfection

As this pathological perpetrator of perpetual judgment

Fills me half-full -

A superficial status of optimism at its finest

Proposed to please me with prudently, puckered lips

Coming from a mouth half-full of shit.