a ketamine priest preaches redemption through stagnation. you offer him shins for another morsel of savior. the holy beef sits in his hand. rancid. rapidly oxidizing. it’s uncertain if this is the same flesh that died so you could live long enough to destroy what you loved. it could be hormone ridden masturbation fuel harvested from another sacred being. but you trust the alcoholic. you trust the soup blood running from his wrinkled hands. you trust that your aorta will collapse soon enough and you’ll leave this place forever. a fly lands on the meat Eucharist. rubbing salvation through its shit covered fingers. it dies in the coils warm embrace. and you consume the whole mess. like you consume every mess. maybe some day you’ll save them too. maybe some day an insect will be granted eternal life feasting on your hallowed corpse.