God of Disbelief


If I had never been temptation, who would recognize my resistance?

My snake bellied essence, raveling a wild-fruited trunk, transcending it ontologically


I do not exist; you can ignore me in spray-paint graffiti'd antique mirrors

French golden curls swirled about, my unkempt bristles brushing the dunes

Tanned into fetish focused binding leather, by my northern star light, by my star soup eyes


I hold the fool's sense by the hearth, cook it up and combust it into spindling spirals

The therapeutic aroma of smelling my own sacrifice for my own luxury

I’ve even began to listen to my own prayers as I pull them out of my throat


I am the god of disbelief

I am the devil of all advocates

I am the patron saint of sinners

I will lay my tingling spine on altar

I already drink the wine

I am the God of drinking wine

I am the devil of dancing on the altar


Published at Riggwelter Press