"abominable" poems
Based on a painting, "Nuclear Puppies", by Julie Nagel, 2001
You’re a mutant, you know—
got funny dog babies sprouting
out of your head like they were
ears. Those copies of your face
look up at a sky of ashy gray,
perked and tense. Are you listening
to yourself? What choir
of dog-eared deformities
sings to you? Maybe they should have
howled louder before we dropped The Bomb.
Maybe the yellow caterwaul of their
melting butter bodies would have stayed our hand.
I doubt it though.
This is what we do. We burn things.
We tinker, adding and subtracting until
what’s left is blasphemy—until what’s left is
you. A yellow almost-dog, a sagging
body with melted flesh where there should
be fur. Sad monster; beg your alms
from the atomic Frankensteins who made you.
Your skyward eyes are bright, still happy
anywhere but here. But your abominable
body lies here staring into gray space with
Alpo still sticky on your nose, wet, brown snow.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Lev. 20:13 "If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them shall be put to death for their abominable deed; they have forfeited their lives."
This was said to make sure the population on earth grew, which it did. God was NOT saying this because it will always be wrong. They are just regular people and this is where they belong. Homosexuals are the same as everybody else. This is equality that they strive for because no one is better than the other. We are all from the same God, and we are all sisters and brothers. This is not a disease and this is not something you can change. They were born like that, it is not something that you were taught. I was born with brown hair, this is not something that is forethought. Why does it matter so much what your ****** orientation is? That is that person's business, not ours to judge. We have no right to judge and all of this homophobia is actually just a carnage. We call ourselves Christian, but is this actually living in the true image of God. Have you not heard "Do onto others as you would have them do onto you?" That is the golden rule and how would you like it if it were heterosexuals that were hated anew?
God made all of His children in His image. Do you honestly think that God would turn away His own children because they were born Homosexuals? With all of this hate and anger, turning away people that could be our friends, well we aren't humans; we are actually animals. Why is it that now they get the same benefits as the people who are straight? Why has this taken so long to do? Are they not the same as everybody else that we know? There are many things that are wrong with society, this homophobia needs to stop so why must we forgo? If two people love each other so much to remain together for the rest of their life, then let them. Homophobia is wrong. God loves all of his children headlong. And to all those gays and lesbians out there, STAY STRONG.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
An empty boat glides through a tide-less sea
Echos of thunderous silence reminisces the rowdy sailors once on board
Without fear they sailed across the dark waters
Without the knowledge of forthcoming doom they kept the spirits high
Navigation impaired by the wrath of silence, their abominable gaiety and preposterous hopes were muted for eternity
Life drained, flesh rotted, bones crumbled to dust, and the boat was filled with peaceful death
Though without an inhabitant it still continues to drift towards a predesitned chaos
Its calm trail behind disrupted by an impatient tranquility
Its still path ahead disallows all animations with an unfluent time
Yet it moves forward
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
I went to church today
I don't know what I was trying to find
Hopes? Dreams? A figure to follow and some worthy morals?
I wanted advice, I wanted to feel alive
I left there with these words resonating in my head
"Homosexuality and suicide are abominable"
a short phrase that sums the fancy and elaborated speech of the preacher
Only the sinful suffer, and I guess that's why I am troubled.
I've thought of suicide jokingly and seductively
more times that I could possibly count
I have kissed girls and I am openly attracted to them
I am not afraid of saying it and with respect, showing it.
According to the bible;
Lesbians and gays was a punishment for not obeying God
Suicide is a way of controlling your faith
And the only one that has power over you is the Lord.
God gives you what he thinks you deserve
He knows you since before you where born
and because of that he is more responsible of yourself
than yourself itself.
Your brains are too small
how dare you to contradict the all powerful one with such disturbing thoughts?
He created all and everything, all and nothing
He knows what he is doing, and in no way you can try to question him
I felt more small and insignificant than ever,
How did a invisible figure matter more than my logical arguments?
Can't I decide what I want? Isn't it my body and my emotions the one in play?
There's other 8 billion people and you try to guilt trip me because I want to end it all?
Sinners will suffer only the prayer can save you, you can't save yourself, God will save you.
Isn't it better to try to put myself together? Wouldn't I be learning more with that experience?
Instead of repeating words of prayers, shouldn't It try to save myself or solve the problems?
How dare you to contradict the all powerful one with such disturbing thoughts!
If God chooses to give you what he believes is right
Then why am I the one in so much pain?
Why good things doesn't happen to good people and to the bad ones bad things?
Is it because the bad ones will always pray?
I went to church today
I tried to find support,
I wanted to confess
"Hey, I want to **** myself"
I thought that well...
If so many people could feel happy by worshiping
I didn't loose anything by trying
I instead ended up gaining: guilt, trouble, and a feeling that I will burn in hell
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 2:31 AM UTC
The worst part is
I loved you back
Adulterous affair,
Absolutely abominable!
Maybe you didn’t mean to love
Me, the girl inside
the young woman’s body,
you only thought you knew
Flirtatious banter
once hinted at thoughts
Unsayable;
Intelligible abyss once linked
unsuspecting minds;
Understanding so
Deep, so
Accidental.
Praise me, praise me.
Be careful,
Time is taking over,
How could you, you fool
You can't beat the clock!
You're in love now.
Did you intend for this?
But was it Me you sought to love?
Or was it just my body?
The thrill of the ilicit,
The power
Over a child?
Origins unknown
Grown out of your control.
Say goodbye to reason
I’m your master now.
What’s happening to you?
You’re afraid and I, well
I am the child
who will destroy you
Words, your last weapon
Escalating, no wait, stop
You’re killing yourself.
It's too late
I tried to warn you
You failed me, embarrassed
Me.
I egged you on.
I loved you back.
I’m sorry.
#MeToo
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
*stacking the arrows in piles
a triangle of fuego
furnaces blaze fire
infinite reminders
of the morning after
shafts of light
drift from window panes
remake our names in
god’s slumbering veins
from here to there a whisper
or was it a word
fellow companions
have you heard
the threadbare sisters
took their turns
climbing mountains in order
that we could learn
the ways
of green hearted sun-scrapers
sweet little dangers
fellow death chasers
full of music
givers of blooming veils
bouquets of snow and hail
almond shaped eyes
resplendent thighs
and a mind as pure as a lake
during an alaskan winter
in the frozen splinter
trees are taken from their roots
the women are bleeding
weaving you the meat and the story
outsiders are cast from clay into statues
with feminine bodies
curving like cotton candy
i choose to impress you
repeat the compliments
that land on empty stomachs
string together words
like a rosary of sweet nothings
simple deeds give thrilling feats
a chance to restore their honor
purity is unwashed in ***** soil
as i am cut from the cloth of the earth
our shirts are pressed at birth
white light forming fellowship
dimples in the cheeks of the mother
the earth’s bones torn out from under
the way we made ourselves invisible
the minute we realized our accents were noticeable
our actions were abominable
how could we ever repay
the generosity we were treated to
our ultimate needs are met by poetry
upon a ridge a silent figure wept
and held his head upon a bed of cement*
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 2:17 AM UTC
Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
And what has he been after, that they groan and shake their fists?
And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.
'Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
In the good old time 'twas hanging for the colour that it is;
Though hanging isn't bad enough and flaying would be fair
For the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.
Oh a deal of pains he's taken and a pretty price he's paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they've pulled the beggar's hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they're taking him to justice for the colour of his hair.
Now 'tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet,
And the quarry-gang on portland in the cold and in the heat,
And between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare
He can curse the god that made him for the colour of his hair.
5.2k
*veins of my fingers in riots of blossomed colours
like threads made of lilac, lavender, blues and leafs.
for the blues are essences of the Elysian skies,
while lilacs, lavenders and leafs were stolen from an old man's farm
every dawn the sunlit blue wept for the docile stars' hide
I knock my knuckles red and wild, like the raspberries from the monsieur's farm
my chin against the beige, I gaze to where the magpies talk too loudly on the garden moist
swollen and offended by the loud chirps of boisterous dins, the grouchy neighbour cry.
I fill my baskets with wild things and papers,
I have cheese and juices, fruits and sweet carrots.
I have peach trees on my nails for jam
I have cherries in my toes for pie
I have snows in my lapin's soul for some ice creams
I have poppies in my worn pants for a good sight
And there's even vineyards of all Verona in my mind
the ribbons on the hat loom into the gardens' tunnel;
I have herb gardens, I have secret gardens
And I have my old books and pens in there.
when my laces are riven, the embroidered flowers are not.
the canvas shoes is painted in petrichors and soil
my dresses go tattered, sewn with patches
into the vines, thorns and russet throats I lilt and leap
against smells of rustic wood pencils and redolent flowers
There, under a green willow is where to sit and devour wisdom
and to drink some saccharine wine with mon lapin and maybe some picnic pies.
The abominable tremors will be gone,
My morn soul diving into fairy pools of sensuous europhias.*
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
the barker in charge
is sniffing markers
& the dog's the one
in the shock collar.
good god.
I'll come back
tomorrow.
galapagos, I'm sorry.
rocketship jalopy
wrote a handbook on
banana boat cutthroat
reconnaissance exotica,
abominable
beast of tropic atrophy
broke folk casualty engulfed
in telescopes & TV shows
being monitored thru a monocle
the theatrical apathy & topical misanthropy
can anybody understand me?
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
This house is made of ice.
A gelid, brass interior awaits me with wicked vice.
Stepping through the frozen doors,
I fall into my own homely grave.
A familiar capsule with silky floors.
Paintings hang upon each wall,
Lifeless and disturbed.
Although, the images do utter one final whisper before tightening the noose—
“Beware of the abominable master of abuse.”
I wish to float,
As with each step the rivers of blood in my feet howl.
Icicles pierce through my soles;
Daggers with a bright smile...
I am only ever welcomed into this house of ice
With a vast iniquitous price.
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 11:56 AM UTC
Il était très **** dehors était noir
Comme un maudit soir
Qui allait porter: angoisse et tristesse
Pour une mère soudainement tombée en détresse
Les escadrons de l’obscurité viennent d’exécuter
Son enfant de vingt et une années
Il avait prétendument un couteau en main
Et l’innocence d’un jeune matin
Fatal dans sa pensée. La technologie
Peut, par hasard, améliorer ou détruire la vie
Plusieurs cartouches tirées, le jeune homme est tombé
Criblé de balles réservées pour des condamnés
Les assassins nocturnes ont abattu une autre victime
Ce qui est pire, c’est qu’ils ne vont pas payer pour cet horrible crime
C’est abominable, le noir est souvent injustement ciblé
Le racisme est un cancer qu’on doit éradiquer
La mère est inconsolable
Ses douleurs implacables
Ses larmes intarissables
Et ses peines incommensurables
C’est triste et amer, la mère va enterrer son enfant
C’est drôle, affreux, criminel et méchant
Les malhonnêtes « foliciers » sans remords
Viennent de causer un autre mort
Ils ne connaissent pas les souffrances
Endurées par une mère pour donner naissance
A un bébé en bonne et parfaite santé
Quelle tristesse! Quelle calamité!
C’est une autre tranchée forcée
C’est vraiment déchiré un cœur jadis farci de fierté
Voir une mère pleurer dans une telle condition
Est écœurante pour toute la famille
Et les amis
Qui brûlent dans un enfer imbibé de pénibles émotions
L’ignorance et l’immaturité sont deux plaies
Qui jamais ne sèment ni l’amour, ni la paix
Les pleurs de la mère sont intarissables
Ses douleurs inimaginables
Ses peines incontrôlables
Et la mère inconsolable.
Copyright© March 2011, Hebert Logerie, Tous Droits Réservés
Hebert Logerie est l’auteur de plusieurs recueils de poèmes.
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 11:02 PM UTC
What does black history month mean to me,
Slavery and freedom,
A race fighting for equality,
The rusted chains and blood stained whips,
Over 400 years of this abominable cycle,
Love thy neighbor the words silenced in the bible,
I have a dream,
The dream that came true,
But only through the spilt blood of the innocent,
Their families left singing the blues,
Black history month is a month of the forgotten truth,
How one man's greed became a nation's nightmare,
And how we as humans must dream of freedom and equality too.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
Oh they're taking him to prison for the color of his hair.
'Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
In the good old time 'twas hanging for the color that it is;
Though hanging isn't bad enough and flaying would be fair
For the nameless and abominable color of his hair.
Oh a deal of pains he's taken and a pretty price he's paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they've pulled the beggar's hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they're taking him to justice for the color of his hair.
Now 'tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet,
And the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,
And between his spells of labor in the time he has to spare
He can curse the God that made him for the color of his hair.
2.8k
writing letters of apology,
we utter words like,
'weakness in man. the curse!
women, the abominable sin'.
writing letters of apology
we first deny the obvious
welding lies with truth
wrecking trust with words
writing letters of apology,
we quite recall others
who stepped in these traps
wearing shields and helmets
writing letters of apology,
wriggling in pain and depression
we gnash our teeth
words admitting that man is weak.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
melancholy blanketed the whites
scarred voices muffled by
a ****** mind.
an avalanche stuck in my soul
severer than a bee at a forked road
how confused!
red-cheeked petals and afternoon birds glare
in confusions at the footsteps :
unbalance, shaded, muted!
the green umbrella's warm, so scorchingly cold!
all embittered, by solemn beams of the soulless sun.
their eyes widen,
for they had never seen such lone,
for such lone, rare, is forbid to the sons of nature,
never belong to happy child's arms,
that dreams in a mother's charm.
grieving droughts in the air and grass,
no dews, why!,
yawned the madden, soporific rabbit
Ah, so wild.
the windless noontime cross, my quivers stopped, mild.
lashes waxed, blacken like a coal,
mind stuck in a haze, or maybe a threatening maze.
stiffness of the air injected to my nostrils
into my white tongue they will soak, like perfumes to a clothe.
Selene will gaze angrily at this and say,
why no, it shouldn't be in there!
the midnight orchids waver and frown.
soon the frothing dreams peter,
but the bolded letters in a white board stay,
my chair stays.
creaks of an abominable burden became a din.
The smudges of grey-white dust I smelt
hover gaily in the air of pompous breath.
spellbound by the stagnant languor,
mazy, in hallucinations of the heat and homesick.
I sought the fount of hypocrisy and vile,
my hiding nonchalances rosen
(towards a flock of friends)
and loathes to an abominable sun frozen
(I wished it to die!)
Tilted to the windows,
I saw nothing, but fatal secrets of a heart rosed
like window dust to a nose.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
Sit up straight,
you're not pretty when you seem so relaxed.
Suicide season only comes once a year,
there's no other time for sadness here.
Never spend any money on food,
buy expensive clothes to please everyone else,
even though you live all of your life in solitude.
Spread yourself too thin by biting off more than you can chew,
keep reminding yourself that discipline is a virtue.
You're becoming so distant from the rest,
and the finish-line is blurry now.
You're not sure if they're overlapping you or you're the one that's winning,
yet you feel it is both somehow.
Make it through another Autumn and fall into Winter,
and maybe this time you can walk alone in the snow without leaving a footprint.
It will be beautiful,
it will be pure,
it will be worth it,
I am sure.
An abominable thought comes to mind:
You can crash your car violently enough so that it will ruin your entire face, it will be a blank slate, and then no one can judge you for getting plastic surgery.
You might actually look better that way.
A cognitive distortion
blown out of proportion,
it haunts my mind every day.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 6:22 PM UTC
Ah here sits the stone on the ground
The shrub on the hill. A
Natural state of affairs if you will.
Retched Earth, abominable stone
Why the nerve of the rag tag tree
To perch ones self in stark relief
Blocking the skyline, space invader.
Thief.
Why the unmitigated gall.
Of the rain to fall on withered
Pate..
Tis the empty barrel that rumbles profusely.
The shallow stream that muddles at the bottom.
Pyramid craniums, issues forth babble.
Slackjawd mouth-breather.
Knee **** Buffoon.
Perched in perpetuity,howling
at the moon.
The my way or the Highwayman, astride a cocked horse.
The cant see the beauty of the Forrest for the treeman.
Bull headed, Ram goat Salty old ******
Failure to Communicate.
Rush to excommunicate
Monolythic seer
Cotton eyed joe
Constipated thinker.
Oh the comfort and surety
of riding in the ruts.
.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
some say im cynical
satanical
that my minds mechanical
diabolical
spoken essence erotical
detestable
jaded imagery hypnotical
unstoppable
liable to solve the unsolvable
while prodigal poets drown in their nautical modules
im a criminal
a cannibal
storming the street like an animal
shooting cannonballs
through prison walls
splattering the generals
in bathroom stalls
hostil
leave you poppin pain pills in the hospital
uncontrollable
my temper is flammable
mumbles illegible
choking you with your pentacle
leaving onlookers speckled
the abominable
mental protocols unstoppable
the unfeasible constable
shooting up the card table
willing and able
to call your fables
and smash apart a label
i raise babies in unstable cradles
let you bleed out
like cracked ladles
engorged in unholy wars
exploring
the corruption of the core
deplored
uniformed for
the clash of the double edge swords
taking control of vocal chords
a meet of the hordes
of the horned
misinformed
adorned
in sunlight
trying to shine
just 1 line
at a time
until my life signs decline
almost time
light and shadow combined
Horus and set
by hindsight blessed
yet to contest
to the rest of this mess
by melancholy caressed
as i arise unrest
from the cess
of the un confessed
blessed
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
What is the sorriest thing that enters Hell?
None of the sins,—but this and that fair deed
Which a soul’s sin at length could supersede.
These yet are virgins, whom death’s timely knell
Might once have sainted; whom the fiends compel
Together now, in snake-bound shuddering sheaves
Of anguish, while the scorching bridegroom leaves
Their refuse maidenhood abominable.
Night ***** them down, the garbage of the pit,
Whose names, half entered in the book of Life,
Were God’s desire at noon. And as their hair
And eyes sink last, the Torturer deigns no whit
To gaze, but, yearning, waits his worthier wife,
The Sin still blithe on earth that sent them there.
2.4k
Dysfunction and happiness
Don’t usually go hand in hand
But that describes you and I story
The wise-man n’ Elle, a soldier n Simi
A bad-ass movie in a broken DVD player
More than ever our thoughts burn hateful
And deep in our souls, the will begets cold
Sealing us close and everything left to feel
An illusion of end that tarnishes our peace
Cleaner we walk and little by little we lied
We each run a race to attain the crown
I, the heir of Christopolis: a half man
A king with no kingdom – a danger
And you: heir of feline, an anger
A shy queen with no freedom
With no changes - so I ask myself
Is this a sample of psychological fraud
That people uses sensual relations n’ beliefs
To sway their cause to others; positive or not
Let us redeem your soul n’ gleam thou purpose
Sell me thou beauty for luxury n’ fame, she says
But the boy had his way with words: he opposed
Curiosity is dangerous n' assumption is powerful
Staring within her eyes with an abominable face
He turn n’ stormed away with grace n’ disbelief
Struggling not to outcry in compelling dismay
Twas nice to desire, but hers is not a proper
Piece of human sexuality; a noetic disorder
The lesbians and gays - the political tool
A change in the city, a proactive lie
That errs up as Satan - a musical fool
First he sings: “I bring peace and wealth”
Next they proclaimed: “It is a Human Right”
Another piece of the puzzle of human sexuality
But so the Book quotes – an abomination I hate
“No man shall have intimacy with another man”
Let’s not rearranged n’ be lost – it cost our health
For war is better than the choice of homosexuality
They know they are doom, so they tend to mislead
Some sit in shelters n' compose fraudulent grants
Lies, patriotism n’ tradition to keep society inline
For as long as they can, so afraid to lose control
But wealth and health must go hand in hand
For we are more of a lion than the least
Quite divine and above every beast
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
my greatest fear
is mother and father
reading my journals
see through lines
deliberately unreadable
because i write the unthinkable
'i might not marry someday'
and the perverse
*'i wonder what's it like to **** this girl'*
and the abominable
*Amber is a woman trapped in the wrong body
and
she
is
suffocating.*
i choke on the silence
because it is woman's role
in Saturday sermons
because i cannot borrow my brother's slippers
i am not needed outdoors
because when i spoke for the trans waiter with the pained smile
they blamed my sociology
and not my compassion
mother and father, bless your souls
i'd rather not have you read this
and believe in the 'i love you's
because love is the greatest commandment
*but we spit on the ****
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
those killers of innocents
will die in their own blood
not even mistranslated 72 houris
can save them
the misguided fanatics of Paris
who shot happy civilians
with their Kalashnikovs
and then blew themselves up
will have discovered that
by now
to throw terror and death
into people’s daily lives
is an abominable crime
not a heroic deed
those who instigated the massacre
shall be punished accordingly
fake heroes revealed
as ruthless criminals
shall face judgement
in whose light
their great deeds
are shown as what they are
****** ******
yet – far beyond the proper punishment
required after cruel acts
there is the need to look ahead
and face the somewhat inconvenient necessity to
remove the roots of violence veiled as religion
speak up and stand up firm against fanaticized minorities
no matter in whose name the claim to act
bring peace to regions devastated by the dire games of politics
we simply cannot allow
a bunch of ruthless desperados to dominate our lives
* * *
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
**~~~~~Spoilers Ahead~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**
Didn’t know SH was so amazing,
A second degree mind palace,
He was keeping.
What we watched in an hour,
And were perplexed by, for days,
Had taken place in his mind,
In mere 300 seconds!
Baffled with the news of return of Moriarty,
He decides to solve a similar case,
That had occurred 120 years ago.
He recreates his whole life,
Complete,
With Irene’s photograph,
In his pocket watch.
Fits all the pieces in 1895,
All,
Including John’s witty wife,
Then enters the ‘cleverer one’,
And fatter this time,
Having already made a theory,
He asks Sherlock to do the leg-work,
Because Mycroft himself is busy,
Trying to beat his little brother.
The game is afoot again,
All in Sherlock’s complex brain,
He exposes the truth,
Of Mrs. Ricoletti’s death,
Just as he was about to know about Moriarty’s,
He’s is woken by his friend.
But he goes back again,
To complete the story.
To solve the mystery,
He goes to the Falls,
To again finish the problem,
The final problem.
But this time John interrupts,
In 1895,
And kicks Moriarty off the cliff,
To let Mr. Holmes happily, alone,
Complete the fall.
Now he returns to the present,
With a smile conveying I-know-it-all,
And he does know all about the villain,
His death, his plans,
And the rest.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:19 AM UTC
Here, take this with your food.
You inevitable helpless fool.
A puppet used among the shores of Hell.
You must listen to the bells that will never tells, or yells.
Listen, You stupid tool!
There's a princess, you see.
Dressed in the moon and covered in pearls, galore!
But sad, she is. Far from bliss.
For she has never had a real kiss.
Run with me. I'll make sure we'll stay out of sight and out of mind.
Never to be pestered by our own inferior kind.
My abominable secret of tricks and treats.
Wrap me in the shroud of my own delightful defeats.
A puppet to thee.
Because a puppet I will forever be.
A snake to my heel.
Always to hear and feel.
And likewise, my heel to ****
Oh faceless princess of my darkest dreams.
Is this all my humanity can bare?
Perhaps not. My brightest Nightmare.
Oh, heartless queen, how long must you torment me, so?
Bury myself six feet down below?
Here stranger, I give you my pen.
Use it as you see fit.
I don't mean to be mean, but is it lit?Your flame, I mean?
Because mine is not.
My candle is in many knots.
Lots and lots of convoluted and intricate knots.
Care to take a whack at them?
You're better off holding your breath and counting to ten, my friend.
Over and over, again.
Now please, if my princess won't return to me by ten o'clock,
Show me the way to the nearest glock.
Suicide? Never!
Maybe just sleep. Forever.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC