godless hymn
I wasn’t born — I was expelled,
From choking smoke and screams I yelled.
No breath of grace, no holy light,
Just claws and fire in endless night.
No lullaby, no sweet refrain,
Just rusted chains and seeping pain.
A crib of ash, a whip for love—
I crawled while angels laughed above.
They fed me rot, they bled me dry,
They laughed each time I dared to cry.
And when I begged with shattered throat,
They carved their names, like little notes.
So now I wear this flesh like hate,
A cloak of wounds, a twist of fate.
I smile with rotted teeth,
And sleep beneath your floorboards’ creak.
I learned to cut when silence spoke,
Each line a vow, each scar a joke.
The blade became my whispered creed—
It wrote the truths that made me bleed.
Love? A myth with rotted breath,
A flower fed on fear and death.
They touched, they tore, they took, they lied—
Then danced while something in me died.
My veins are collapsed, my blood is coal,
My heart’s a nest of burning holes.
I am what screams when prayers go still,
The crack beneath your windowsill.
You call me "lost"? No — I was made,
From gaslight, fists, and razorblades.
Not man, not beast, just wrath on fire—
A godless hymn, a sweet pariah.
Your saints look down, your devils flee—
There’s no damnation deep as me.
I kiss the wounds that made me this,
And drink despair like holy bliss.
So say your grace and clutch your charm,
I’ll greet you with a lover’s arm.
My voice is ash, my touch is cold—
I bloom in places built from mold.
No grave, no rest, no final right—
I rise again in the night
I am the curse that hate conceived.
The one they birthed… then disbelieved
Copyright ©
butch reichard
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