The script

grips

the grey matter

with no questions

tendered or rendered

to hide

the creases and flaws

of the catechism curtain

 

Incense clouds

the view

from the true

sense of reality

 

Morality kneels

on glass - stained

water - unholy

drips into tears

 

Guilt trips

filter into veins

trembling, shaking

in silence

occupied by

souls - crossed

then lost