When Gods Go Starving
Rotmouth stares through the shatter in the glass,
ten thousand voices spitting nails in his brain.
Halo cracked, horns splitting bone.
Every prayer tastes like poison, every curse feels like home.
There’s an angel in his marrow, screaming “hold the line,”
but the devil behind his teeth grins and pours the wine.
Sanity’s a rumor in the back of his head.
Madness a mother’s touch, cold and well-fed.
Every dream’s a cage, every hope’s a knife.
God counting sins, Satan betting on the strife.
Inside, cathedrals collapse and temples burn.
Seraphim and serpents trading scars for turns.
Rotmouth spits up iron, blood’s old and black.
His hands won’t stop shaking, his shadow looks back.
Divinity and darkness wrestle in his sleep.
Every heartbeat’s judgment, every silence runs deep.
The world splits sideways, his mind’s gone jagged.
The choir of memory chants in tongues ragged.
God’s on his knees, Satan’s biting through chains,
both begging Rotmouth for the keys to his pain.
No one’s left pure, no one gets out.
Virtue and vice circling round and round.
He rips out his own tongue, silences the crowd.
Let the thunder decide, let the dark be loud.
Shadows fuck angels in the chapel of bones.
Saviors and sinners all gnawing on stones.
Sanity’s last sermon drowned in static and rust.
Divinity’s just dust, insanity’s just trust.
When gods go starving, they gnaw on the soul.
Tear down the sun, leave nothing whole.
Sanity weeps, insanity grins,
both locked in the cellar with their original sins.
When gods go starving, it’s just flesh and fear.
I am the ending, the last thing you hear.
When gods go starving, the world comes undone.
Two monsters devoured, and no one has won.
Ashes to hunger, prayers to bone.
Inside the silence, he’s finally alone.