The Weight of Silver

I have
no idea
where I am.

I taste
the taste of red
on my tongue, for I

have eaten the flesh,
the Flesh and Blood of Man.

There is
the acrid smell
of copper red sunsets melting in my hands
and running through the intervals between my fingers,
turning into deep black pools at my feet.

I feel
the heavy weight of silver in my pockets,
thirty pieces in exchange for damnation.

I have traded in my own cross for Hell,
thrown Daniel to the lions,
the lamb to the wolves.

I have bought Hell and traded in my cross
to burn in my own weakness and
to drown in my own guilt.

I have, I have
no idea
where I am, no idea
but that I have devoured
the Soul of Man.