In the pit of my stomach

There is a pit of death in my stomach.
Of moths and butterflies dancing in sulfuric fires,
Leaping, advancing to my heart and throat,
And I bloat from this toxic gas.
Upon this volcano is a halo of ash.
Alas, I can smell it.
I am vile, evil, rotten,
For life has not forgotten,
The deadly sins I have begotten.
My red blood alight in blue flames,
My pulse quickens as I sicken and convulse,
And I spit and vomit from this pit, the dead,
And most tragic of all, my Soul.
So I want to gut my Body of me,
To save my Spirit and set it free.


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