Gleamball's personal writings

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The Vagrant Savior's Crucifixion Day

As the overhead sea turns black
the bell tolls thirty-three and male.
The earth gives birth to tremors
as shades of red streak across a loving face.
Your hill of justice taste innocent blood,
and the dead are walking your streets.
Tell me Jerusalem,
did you wet your pants when
you realized what you had done
or when your prophet came back from the dead wearing a smile on his face.

by Mitch Scheffler