Tonight, the night of last supper. A bottle or two of chemical salvation, bleach to purify, and a few nails. No breaking of bread, no pouring of wine, no transfiguration. The twelve around my table: shame, waste, guilt, hatred, betrayal, lust, pretense, superficiality, anger, jealousy, hopelessness and failure. Dancing a distasteful dance of death, unfolding suicide scenarios.
No comments:
Post a Comment