A shower will be mandatory

I found all my poems from my old and obscure myspace account. Most of these poems are very strange and many have visuals and language that are ..... hmmm let's just say I'm not sure if I'm comfortable putting these back out there. But I can put this one out. The title of this post is the title of this poem, and I still like it.

They are sitting around moving in slow motion, drunk and clumsy
being slothy and purposefully dramatic in eveything they do
is there some blanket of heat causing them to conserve every last bit of energy?
Sometimes a large grouping of THE committee makes eye contact
I've seen it happen before, but many times it just moves into nowhere
but today, the seemingly listless cruise control separates itself
kinda like waking up suddenly when dozing off
Rise up

now wide eyed, they all look at each other as if some noise did not make sense, putting them on edge
everyone is alert now
even the old creaky man holds his cigarette at his waist and exhales completely so he can listen properly

someone is wrestless and their doodling has turned into something more
something much more
instead of shouting eureka, the energy from his self elightenment
gives off a pressure shockwave and purple ring of light
slowly standing with arms running through the hair and raised into space
there is a definitive statement of status
a growling bullhorn that throws a large knife into everyones hands

I can't hear what's being said though
it's muddled...something about the need for a prophecy
that culture cannot survive without the hope of a saviour
and that preparations must be made? some kind of invitation and sacrifice?
They are getting louder cheering and shouting
A cloud of debri that smells of manic aggression starts to form
A rarity to have hot bright sunlight and thunder with no lightning

I feel a sense, a need, to squeeze and tighten every muscle
It's like an elixir of courage, a shout of rage, a speech that empowers you to die before accepting failure
To stand before all that is painful and crush it with truth
To destroy that which is cancerous and stare it into oblivion
It smells of some irrational emotional genocide and for a second
I shudder
And yet I can't hide from the visions of my hands violently scooping away
from life what I want to devour
Can pleasure walk in the hands of righteousness or is this the devil's rationalization...