As I trudge upon the path

with vigor and conviction

I stumble upon a small headstone

with the faintest chiseled inscription

-

“Here lies a man with wrath in his heart,

He knew not love or those who gave it

He said life was just a stupid game

for those moronic enough to play it”

-

As I ponder this enigma

this brilliant man and his morbid stigma

I regret I hadn’t met this man

yet I felt as if I’d known him,

a glorious eerie feeling creeps over my spine

and commands me to adore him.

-

It seems I should annihilate

what those seem to exsacerbate

and then I should come and create

what those seem to procrastinate.

-

I’ll destroy what’s highly regarded,

starting here in this casket garden,

take a hammer to this sepulcher,

the to society, the bleeding ulcer,

-

It will never end until I’ve infected

All of those who’d have me corrected,

and I will never stop believing

what my heart is always grieving.

This suicidal society

is one giant ******* commodity.

-

And as I trudge along the path

with elevated vigor and conviction

the corpse garden’s sweet song of silence

rocks me into submission.

-

As I dream this beautiful, dreadful dream,

I am calmed by this sensation:

There will come a time when I rest here,

but until then,

I fight damnation.