The Nature of the Feast

To feed of the holy swine, would be divine. To consume of the muscle and sinew beneath the rind. A lavish meal the Christian would be, to wipe my mouth with cloth of purity. Within fibers and marrow I find solace. Through smoke and tears I pick at heaven’s skeleton with greedy fingertips lusting for purchase. To digest the cannibal lamb would bring me closer to who I am. To find one’s self in the flesh of another is simply a lost work of greatness. Lucifer, a gracious host. Need not brag nor boast that his spread deserving of a toast, never ceasing to astound. Sin for sin, pound for pound. Salivary glands hold dominion over my ravenous urge to feast until the savory iniquities of these beasts are licked clean. Break the bread to sop up the broth of sinner, smitten alongside my “gentile” dinner. The harvest commences, satisfactory. The herd is ripe for the slaughter