Thoracic Animus (5)

   
   "Thoracic Animus (5)"
   
Mutt reflected upon Winchester the 3rd,
That thoracic surgeon thinking meatball surgery did disturb,
Yet worse than someone saying it's not your house,
And a razor wristways, thinking you're homeless--blame their demon; specifically, their spouse;
Alas, things could have union for Mutt,
Knowing Christ said they will hate you because of Him, like of Han Solo did Jabba the Hutt;
Moreover, once union arriveth, and a duplicate you become of David's metaphorical son;
Next, everlasting from everlasting, like Roy Rogers' reruns and his six-gun.
But Mutt only carried his little, depressed dog,
Offering comfort and solace while uplifts their nostrils like a snob,
Thinking their shit doesn't stink because of a white shirt,
When it only covers the coal of a black heart, filthy as diabolical dirt;
As a result, Mutt felt no guilt for persevering due to a Messiah,
Glad he lived in Dakota and not Carolina.