I want to destroy your holy

When they scream,
when their warped mouths glow red,
stretch, howl,
wolf-bitten fingers torn
past the nail.
Maybe they’re prophets.
Maybe they know things
the Devil doesn’t want revealed.
Maybe your grandfather,
the exorcist, aches
for that unholy penetration
to confirm his faith.
Because
what’s better than martyrdom?
Or, rather,
What’s better than light, a fire,
so bright it is only extinguished
through confirmation?

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