My Body is a Cult

My body is not a temple.

My body is a cult,

Hidden deep in an underground vault, or cistern

or beneath some unholy wood.

My body dances around a purple fire

and my brain,

boiling over in a gold and glass aquarium.

I crave the blood of innocents.

But there are no innocents,

because sin is a lie,

and without sin how can there be Innocence?

We are all as innocent.

But the craving persists

and I am fed by my body

with peculiar ingredients

and esoteric chemicals

covered in strange sigils,

Meant to entice but not satisfy

they are dumped into

the vat I boil in,

spilling over and

turning the fire green and red.

My brain pulses

and I want more

so the ritual continues

and repeats

and repeats

and repeats

till the fuel is exhausted

and the flame extinguished

and the body and brain collapse and rest.

There is always rest if you wait long enough