blood on the devil's megaphone
“Come to Christ!” she bellowed, before slamming the phone down.
I might have thanked God that the conversation was over,
but the only thing on my mind was the next beer—
cold and soothing to my lips, bitter in my throat,
like life,
like watching the life you’ve given
rage against you.
“Come to Christ!” she bellowed, before slamming the phone down.
I might have thanked God that the conversation was over,
but the only thing on my mind was the next beer—
cold and soothing to my lips, bitter in my throat,
like life,
like watching the life you’ve given
rage against you.
I might have thanked God that the conversation was over,
but the only thing on my mind was the next beer—
cold and soothing to my lips, bitter in my throat,
like life,
like watching the life you’ve given
rage against you.
posted by extraspecialbitter at 9:20 AM
3 Comments:
I just wonder why Christ can't meet me halfway - that's all.
tr - I suspect he took my advice from a few years back: he hung up the "Gone Fishing" sign in his storefront window and never came back.
I'd love to know the story behind this post!
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