Dry Mouth Poem by Christan Bowen

when I wither and feel death and the breath dying
I will not see angels flying, not from where im lying
I will be in a puddle of blood
somewhere in the same neighborhood
of where I was born

does the devil have horns
this is will see
does he hate the whole life
or laugh with glee
everytime someone dies
does it add to the glow
to the look in his eyes

my assignment will be on a rock
a ledge, where lava does drop
I will be naked but for a loin cloth
I will eat slithering snakes
and an occasional moth
I will bit my lip and drink the blood
I will know this as delicious, well and good

I will be mean and unforgiving
I will hate the earth and the living
and I will agree with this brand new program
and I will say, yes, the devil I know him
and I will rise
and open my eyes
to brand new fires, and red, molten skies
and the steam of earths dying water
will not blister me
if it does, it wont bother

and I will dream, that god is a father
to all of the living
that kissed his white collar
and I will think im now abandoned
and will rise to the men, and I will command them
and I will say, without waste of time
that we the gathered
committed no crime
but we live here, where the good men dwell
where others avoid, because it is hell