godswallow

the chosen slip down the throats of gods
and work the organ crops on the red field,
light breeze swaying arteries around those
holding their sweating brows up, little dots
of red condensing on their heads.

day is done, and the haunting gargles beckon
the men back to the dry halls.

each to their own cappillary, left to reflect
and lie to themselves, left to dry out after
humid red work, left to depressive peace
and silence and to patiently wait for the
gargles of another day.

some of the men, the cursed chosen, start
to show signs of ingestion on their skin,
they cannot take it, the toll of the inner gods
is rotting them and their sanity to the very
core. a question of promise, faith and existence.

thought and fear takes over until it's secreted,
until the new men are swallowed.

he doesnt know how long he's been there.
he lost count of the gargles long ago, during his
attempt to shut out all dangerous thought.
until now he had simply ignored how many had
come and rotted before him, but finally the fear
grabs him and wears away at his whole existence.

was there really truth in the gods promise?
yes, he thinks, there must be, the other men must
have pondered the same thing and let it get to them,
but i must not. i am here for a reason, i reap the vein
holds and shed the old outer skins during the floods,
i risk everything and yet i am still here, my faith
unfaltering and true. i am the true chosen one.

but in truth, he was lied to, as all men were, lied to
by their passion, their hope of truth in the god's
promise, but higher powers are evil, slaving us to
keep their false information flowing, on every new
turn of technology, we're insignificant snacks.
nothing changes, our ego and self importance
grows bigger and bigger that we'd believe anything
just to support it.

it's time to live for ourselves!