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.