Morbus

You can’t show me heaven
I’m your dreaded hell

I dare you
Call me heathen

To no gods
Do I kneel

These words
Making your heart bleed
Gaping wounds
Unhealed

Like the fires of Ebola
I am a virus
Incurable

Pray for me

If you must

For I prey
On you
And yours

I bask in the glory
Of your ignorance

How strange the scientist

See him there

Bound
Bloodied
Lying in his own filth

Listen to him simpering
Grovelling to me

Interjecting his cries for mercy
With pleas to a god
Any god
That will listen

I sit back
Listening to the silence

Laughing

© 2006, Mosquitobyte