Skinless Religion

[Patrick Haltiwanger]

faces hardened in a dark menace
cold hard stares
unintelligible mutter through gritted teeth
trying to dissect me with surgical precision
tactical strikes of an army
disguised behind flawed manmade religion
scrutiny creases the air like shots fired
though none of the bullets specifically bore my name
the great book says, condemn me
sins on my flesh, I'm dead to them
seen as a detriment, offered up to satisfy
an insatiable appetite for the downfall of my kind
subject to hatreds spewed from sermons
decorated with graffiti and blood splatter
in stockyards and slaughterhouses of authenticity and free thinking
believed to be places of worship
for a sky bully
an old, grumpy, white man
who lives in the clouds
with a voice like faint rumblings of thunder
instructing my condemnation
at the hands of other fallible, fragile sacks of skin, bile, and bone

beneath the the skin of religion
lies the bloodstained remnants
of slain heroes, of my kind
brave enough to live the design that was divinely etched into their DNA
in a temporal space handcrafted for their existence
no enslavement or groveling at the feet of a Messiah, as depicted
hypocritical zealots
mentally chained to a covert operation of dominance
sugarcoated as holy spiritual work
under the protective umbrella of humanly defined "religion"

I'm a madman of the imagination
thwarted outcast
walking slew of vulgarities and spray-painted slurs
ten times more provocative
forged in the inferno of creation and fashioned in the image
of the incomprehensible
hell-bent on peeling back the skin of religion
purposely built this way, despite flawed religious beliefs
sins on my flesh?, sins on the skin of religion