All ye western boys.

I ate with the scoundrels,
Ingesting my tubeless food,
The inverse of being ill equipped,
Even, an evisceration of feeling
Not so good.
A beast inquired,
“What will you rape,
Once we plunder and pillage,
The opal gates of Iznik,
And ravage,
The walls of Antakya.
Do you favour brunettes,
Pale and slender,
Moaning and squirming,
Silently hating,
Through you violent acts.
Or,
Perhaps a big titted negroe,
Passionate,
Roaring at your pecker,
Spitting in your face,
Cursing still,
As you slit her throat.”
I marveled at his question,
The mind is a serene locution,
That rules the body,
No violence had been in my head,
Until he quacked it there,
I spat.
“I am a holy man of a sacred gender,
Rape interests me not,
It’s salvation I seek,
In no woman’s cunt,
This can be found.”
Silence pervaded our diner,
Until,
One chuckled,
And soon,
They roared with laughter.
“Good chap,
You are still young,
And a holy man you might be,
But first of all,
You’re a virgin boy.
And you know nothing
Of cunts,
And less still of violence.”
The light quickly faded,
And as we grew fatigued,
I lost consciousness,
Under foreign Asian skies,
and dreamt of my mother.