Emotional Apocalypse

I am a dog
fighting in a silent arena
under an unknown master
pleasing strange crowds.
I am of vaguely noble birth,
contemplating my roots in a cage.
Aquarius at their feet.
The feet of half people,
quarter people
or not even as much.
These things that slaughter
everything alive around them,
to celebrate ever repeating births
of their worldly gods.

My blood boils like oil
in the mechanic stomach
of the world.
My organs grow into coal
to feed the fire
that the devil has been kindling
inside humanity
for eons.
And my fears grow
For even though I deserve
to walk the fields of paradise,
I know that I will never reach it.
And slowly, I am becoming,
the parasite,
in the hearts of those I love.
Because they trace my steps back
only to loss and mute decay.
So I fight less and less
each day.

The world has somehow found
a cure against me.
It has learned my nature
and how to ignore its charm.
It drugged me with the illusions
of a calm and tranquil road.
It is safe for them. For now.
As long as I am moving
I cannot infect anyone
with my love.
But as write these lines
I am tickled,
by a feather of war.
This savage messiah
has turned its crooked eyes
towards another Magdalene.
One day soon,
I will be home again,
a shadow of doubt across her sky.
And I will love again.
Like a curse,
Like a gun to the head,
Like an atom bomb.
And it will be
the most wonderfully tragic thing
in the history of the world.