"anathemas" poems
How distasteful you are,
With your sundry splotches
and jarring imperfections.
Oh, you taunt me so!
Whether your anathemas
are reflected through the mirror or my own eyes.
Oh horrible, hateful, heinous thing!
I cannot bear to stare any longer.
How sickly your color is--
A pallid yellow, like one giant bruise
That has budded and blossomed
In some unnaturally grotesque fashion.
My blood boils, my pulse races
And I raise my weapons to fight--
Two talons--claws honed to perfection.
Be gone, you wretched scab!
And so I tear, scratching furiously,
Until no more of you is left.
The blood is stuck beneath my fingertips,
Or what is left of them.
My sinews tremble, ****** and bare,
As the last of my wallpaper
Is ripped from my bones.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
God of Luck, please keep us in mind
As the rest of society falls behind;
Their souls all signed to goals refined
To the devilish needs, to find bold minds
Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****
Anathemas make paths for us.
So thunderous, their misfit ****
God of Fate, please choose the path
That's best for us. Please set up the math
With a positive answer, without this cancer
In body and soul. No necromancer's
Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****
Anathemas make paths for us.
So thunderous, their misfit ****
O' Cursed God, please stray from me!
Please stray from all of those in need.
The cursed souls, they bow to you.
Please stop my bowing, don't make me choose
Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****
Us anathemas make paths, we must.
So thunderous, our misfit ****
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
Yea I found a flaw!
You like meats ****** raw!
We go to sleep in the crypts,
Hungry like black holes, like pits.
We saw magic on the trees,
Made by yellow bees.
Then you took a fall,
I ran to the tree,
To cry and call.
You fell to darkest torment,
Your back was crook’d,
Depression and anathemas I cooked.
The jersey devil took me away,
The ***** promises sounding like a horse’s bray.
I laid in his arms on the way to his lair,
Stepped with him into his hole,
Ready to forget the dreaded lighted air.
He preyed on me, A parasite to a catamite,
My eyes drooped,
A lonely boy sacrificed to a woeful rite.
-Firefly
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC