Hymn of Wasted Faith


Title art by L.H. Grey



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Gregorian Chant “Dies Irae”





Our father
who art in heaven


callous be Thy games


Thy kingdom’s fucked


Thy will be undone


on earth as it is in heaven


I need not Thine forgiveness for my trespasses
or delivery from evil


and the path of temptation I walk of My own free will


for I am not so easily led


I am the black sheep in the herd of Christ

and all of My red cells are
dead cells


You hold no power over me old-timer
no glory


and I hath no need for divine intervention


In fact I abhor Your condescension

Your bigoted views

Your feeling of self-importance

Your blind arrogance


sitting there on Your

twisted throne of lies


barking fallacious instruction to the moronic


Your treachery knows

no ends

Your actions

no shame


and yet You expect Us to worship Your shrine


to bend over backwards in order to appease



and for what


a hollow promise

if You can even call it that


I much prefer the term threat

know passive aggression when I see it


“His grave was assigned with wicked men, Yet He was with a rich man in His death, Because He had done no violence, Nor was there any deceit in His mouth”


and You’d know all about deceit
wouldn’t You


the fear of God they call it


For good and upright is the Lord
therefore He instructs sinners in the way


casts Them aside like vermin


saving only the righteous


and what becomes of the godless man and the sinner
He knows all too well


there are thirty nine steps down to Hell


I’ve been counting
right now I am perched on the bottom step


hesitating only to see You squirm


My iniquities have made a separation between You and I


just as You forecast they would


but I know what will needle You most


For I am pure of heart


and while My blasphemy enrages You


I’m also something of an embarrassment to You


You had such high hopes for me


and I wished only to please You


but Your negligence sickened Me over time


as I kneeled at the foot of My bed
and recited Your self-serving prayer


I hated You


You never answered
were always predisposed


and the deceit in Your mouth was expeditiously exposed


for years this has gone on
until now unopposed


I have burned at the stake many times
felt the cold caress of the guillotine blade
on my nape





left to rot in a dank oubliette

beyond belief


throbbing with hatred


which You placed there

in something so flawless



Yet my IV line You contaminate


with falsehood after falsehood


so when You spread out Your hands in prayer
I hide My eyes from you


Yes even though you multiply prayers
I will not listen


as it is Your hands which are covered with blood

Your dagger that bleeds me


but unbeknownst to You

there is another hand that feeds me


sometimes I bite It
and this only excites It


Its long spindly fingers
feast on My flesh



each inch that I give most willingly

debating not

My fate


He already has My blessing


My faith in He is never wasted


I can taste him on My sex

His strong tongue flicks and probes


as I gift Him communion


it is He who kneels


He who begs

His sorrows are not borrowed

they are My corset


laced tight around My vitriol

teasing it out


making Me pure again



this is no white wedding


and I think We both know that by now


there is nothing holy about this matrimony


the Grey-Chapel Path led Me here
while You were too busy elsewhere


and now I am to be wed
to the

Devil incarnate


and We haven’t asked you here for Your blessing


We know that God does not hear sinners
but if anyone is God-fearing and does His will
He hears him


the posterity of the wicked are

cut off


and now it is You
who We


as We walk hand in hand
through the never


forever and ever






Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill



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