Heart like ours

The rosary of glistening slobber that slithers out of his mouth,
moves south,
towards the bottle of dust with the cork which he once opened with a smile on his face.
The blood underneath his feet on the soft flesh was laced,
with the sharp edges of glass which through his muscles, now scraped his bones.
He moans
and mumbles the sound of complaints.
His nostrils burdened with the fetor of chicken droppings.
That, and the mating scent of fried the slaughtered creatures,
that features
with the smell of spirit in his teeth and tongue.
His heated lung
that throbbed as if hung, on a crucifix and burning in hellfire.
His head paced with a sense of disgrace that had befallen on his conscience, what was he thinking?
What important matter was it, which lured him towards all the spotlight of drinking?  
A heart like ours was never meant to see,
the punisher's decree
- He solemnly thought to himself.
With that, and nothing more,
he reeled his way to the home.
And a thousand silly sober men,
looked with their prying eyes,
at the boy who walked like a blind hen.