A stirred caffeine mix with copious dollops of cream sat succulently savoured and sacrilege atop

We sit our sorry souls down again and pardon ourselves peculiarly unforgiving for all of another such silent evening

These church-goers seem to know no better than that, praying – preying, perhaps – for all of nothing

A feared priest feasts his haphazard eyes upon mine – already narrowed, they escape away to retreat

This lonely church is decorated just so much, lit like one of them there Christmas trees perched further out a yonder

Wishes whispered within these fallen fields of far-fetched… one father’s outlandishly imaginatively stretched dreams – wherein the ‘cream of the crop’ comes cripplingly a-cropper

And a tree branch dances to the wrong tune entirely

This diesel-soaked noose knows no known bounds of its own – carries with it an unpardonable hangman-haltered nuisance

It is Christmas after all, and the townsfolk have been reeling, trying to make up the money-making difference

Indeed, the quality of no life appears to be terrifically blinding, binding, even

Crucified long before this ‘religious’ thing ever began to getting itself to beginning, in the first pitiful instance

Yet I am still here, there, everywhere, still breathing and beating all of these odd odds
To make up my mind and get away from this inescapable place

Wherein insipid personality breathes contagiously aflame at the awakened quake of every brand new a.m. defined by ‘purified’ insane

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