Bone Chapel

I stand before a congregation,
my hands rest upon a teeth accented podium, partake in
My communion verily,
this bone chapel is yours and my
sanctuary, from the ceiling hangs ribcage
Chandeliers, candle wax drips as its melting over,
the walls built high from the skulls of past lives, singing
The hymns of the wretched, start the black mass,
followers of my sect clear a path, my unholy acolytes
Seem to float as they walk, appeasing incense,
swing like pendulum clocks, this is my blood, this is my
Body, drink and taste the flesh of the ungodly,
hear the cries of the sacrificed, the whispering of esoteric
Minds



Credits
Writer(s): Robert Mansfield
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