Rot of the Rind

This world would make one think

They must paint themselves in shades

To forget themselves in shame

Roll over to be made

 

Yet what soul in me

Yearns to burn so bright

Threads of woven lies

Keep us from the light

 

And this man you make me wear

Lies rotting like the rind

Of a fruit that can not bear

To be plucked before its time

 

Sweet of its juice would run

At the hint of just one pull

Ripe but never won

Filled but never full

 

The wet runs down the side

To meet suicides from eyes

To join the dead who march

As the monster slowly dies

 

Nectar of gods long lost

Lies in the rotting shell

Keeps out; keeps it trapped

Knees bruised from where they fell

 

Would you pray to rinse this dirt

Force his hand to make you clean

Shed blood to end the hurt

Confess to the obscene

 

And this man you made me wear

Has rotted like the rind

Of a fruit you wouldn’t dare

To admit as your own kind

 

And this man I was in life

Lies rotten like the rind

Of the fruit that you dared

You chose and you shared

 

And this man that you hate

That your god did create

Is an animal like you

A reflection of what you do

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