"beelzebub" poems
Where we shoveled coal into the furnace was an inconsiderable door. Behind it held ***** chubby cherubs with cherry tomato noses, whose job it was to keep the fires of our parent's liquor cabinets full. This they did to keep them from constantly beating us, but the happy distraction did not always work. So, we would pluckily go. Go to the scuzzy pond at dusk with kerosine lanterns and listen for croaks. We tied forks to the ends of canes or stakes and would gig bullfrogs for dinner. It became only momentarily mortifying, but was always a choice way of ridding our sisters and other clingy girls of our company. We'd fry the legs in cornstarch and pepper flakes and be allowed to share with the adults their beer if it was a good catch. Usually, it was. Most of forever we waited for teaberry season, always the best time of the year. Though it was hotter than Beelzebub's bath water we'd go swimming in that **** pond to reach our favorite teaberry patches. This ensured our riches and fame throughout our Appalachian village. Everyone would eat teaberry ice cream and sing our names and no one beat us on those days.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
/ beelzebub
*(given employs the spider a posteriori
and spiderweb a priori, and then back
into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy -
the id est contra the id erat -
but there is no latin revival -
given that the latin encoding has been
translated into a.i. algorithms...
forget putting the pandora
into a box into a box into a box,
into an etc. or what is a russian
cultural artefact... forget it...
a black fly would not take upon
itself to make a dustbin, a *******
maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly
might... black flies have character,
style...
they're the ones that take
to tango, with spider architecture,
akin to the theological spider analogy
about an ad infinitum a priori argument)*:
a bit like watching
a black fly - "washing" itself -
rubbing it's front limbs
together, "attempting"
to start a fire...
god, those awful
green bottle hypers -
with maggot excesses -
in a potential well
expressed into practice -
black flies?
i can entertain them -
like i might entertain spiders
that do not require aquariums -
the non-exotica types...
so i sometimes find myself
rubbing my hands together,
like a catholic amounting
to an altruistic prayer symbolism...
so kommen faust,
so kommen faust,
so ist pseudo-faust -
or rather:
england?
deutschland jr.
america?
deutschland sr.
and if that wasn't the case?
oh me, little old slavic
babuшka...
i still can't explain rubbing
my hands together,
like a black fly might...
keeping standards of where
to take a maggoty dump's
worth of procreation value...
black flies?
compared to the others?
the priests of the whole
spectrum...
i sometimes wish they were
red,
so i could call them: the cardinals...
alas...
not to be, god said otherwise...
but i can fathom the priesthood,
like i can fathom -
an aspiration of a sleeping
samurai, devoid of the zodiac
delusion,
encouraged to make
chiromancy initiatives
(readings) to alleviate,
******** monotheism.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Normal has no home with me.
Rage is a wonderful mess.
Shake my hand...
Bend around my mind.
Bend all you can.
Sick is what I am.
Contagious is what I'm not, but you will flee all the same.
Satisfaction to my day.
Stay away so I don't have to try to explain.
Stay away...
PTSD, and a sprinkle of Rage...
Bipolar me will tarnish your day.
You will never understand my fears.
You will never understand the me that isn't me...
The desolate creation of Molestation, Physical Abuse, Verbal abuse, and ****
Paint me Not a Victim for you are mine!
I'm ice cold and brilliant in my revenge.
I am easy on the eyes...
I'm a wonderful disguise!
I'll fight with my word's, even though I can't sleep.
You can be the victim of you!
Karma and God will find you!
But first you will see me.
My other me...
Such things that I think...
What you have done to me is nothing compared to my friend Beelzebub!
My mind's damaged Razor Sharp.
The Blood my mind spills is Beautiful, and warm like Family.
I'm the creature that feeds off the stench of your decomposing corps.
In my mind all that's gory is miraculous art.
You are Glorious in your Death!
And it is ART!
Fantasic ART!
Unique in your final pose...
Unique is your Blood on my paint brush.
Victims, Vast!
My gallery is full.
Such Monster's you all are!
But as I write, and create...
I'm the monster Today.
For Survivor's of hate!
I'll create!
No victims of innocence will bleed today.
It's a new day!
I have spray paint filled with the blood of the ******* who stole comfort from your night.
Cry not tonight!
Your composing the nightmares this night!
Set your hurt free...
Let them Bleed.
It's time for art's & craft's.
Carry them to me!
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
Beware all ye who enter here,
This is my heart.
And it is just as bad,
Nay worse,
Than any of hell's trespass,
It beats slow like the mockingbird doth crow,
Once in a blue moon,
And only at midnight,
The chill's it release would make the Morningstar,
Shiver in pain,
My gates are protected by demons greater,
Than the darkest Horror novel,
My own.
The Pits are more black than the darkest tar,
It is the color of my love and of my hate.
For dontcha know,
Its all one thing down here,
Bleeding freely,
Come on in and take a dive,
Just beware,
Not a one,
No God, Demon, Man wo or not,
Has of yet made it out of here,
Is there a treasure inside,
Maybe, perhaps... probably,
Its just the the pride of the thing,
Like climbing Mount Everest,
Or making it to dinner on time.
But I don't care.
Live or die,
The gates remain so very high
Climb them if you will.
One time I fell,
And I awoke in hell,
At first they fought,
For such a soul as me,
Until one such as Beelzebub,
Lord of the hosts he came along,
And he among the first he bowed,
Whispering in a yell loud enough to hear,
'We WILL be waiting for your return,
Lord of lords, king of kings,
Lion among lambs, hero among man,"
Awakening from such a dream,
In a sweat that made me hot,
I smiled for the first time in a long time,
As the blackness in my heart boiled,
And the gates grew,
I had a home in hell,
And Earth would be my THRONE.
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 12:14 PM UTC
Just to see what it was like
The smell of brimstone and smoke
Torture and mayhem
Burning heads impaled upon flaming spikes
I shook hands with the evil one
Of course, horned and dressed in red
Welcome friend mi casa es su casa
But absolutely no communing with the dead
I said I was just looking around
Put to rest any fears
With my good and pure lily white life
I shall never end up here
Many years later
Staring down at my coffin
At my funeral where was shed many tears
It seemed only seconds had passed
****
And there I was
Back in hell again
I looked around at the fires
And asked Satan fearfully
Tell me Beelzebub
What am I doing here?
Your name is on my parchment silly fool
And I have waited many years
All Rights Reserved Tammy M. Darby Dec. 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
I can’t get to sleep at night for fear of what I see,
There is definitely something strange happening to me.
I see Demons in my bedroom dancing round my bed-
Devils on my inner lids poisoning my head.
Beelzebub is running riot driving me insane,
Demons just won’t let me rest-they’re causing grief and pain.
I’ve tried taking tablets; I’ve tried counting sheep
But nothing ever seems to work I still can’t get to sleep.
‘Cause there’s Demons in my bedroom, screaming and a prancing.
Every time I close my eyes I see the Devil dancing.
Weir wolfs howling all night through, Old Nick running riot.
Perhaps it is the food I eat, I’ll have to change my diet.
Sometimes I sneak to bed real late and try to be unheard
But in the cupboards they must wait, I know it sounds absurd.
As soon as I turn off the light and snuggle down to sleep
I get the most enormous fright when out they start to creep.
They just won’t keep from out my head-
Moonlight wakes the living dead.
Demons dance and weir wolf’s scream;
I know that it’s not just a dream,
‘Cause I can’t get to sleep at all
Sometimes it drives me up the wall.
I toss and turn and scream and shout,
The neighbours ask what it’s about.
But I’m afraid to ever say
They’ll think I’m mental straight away,
What normal person sees this sight?
When off to bed they go at night?
I don’t know, I can’t explain,
I know it’s driving me insane.
I’ll ask the vicar round for tea,
Then ask him if he’ll stay with me
To exorcise these hellish visions;
He’s sure to make the right decisions.
He shouldn’t ask or be judgemental
Even if he thinks I’m mental.
Surely there must be some hope,
If there’s not I just can’t cope.
I ask, could you sleep safe and sound
To know your bed has Demons round?
Answers truthfully, please don’t lie.
No You Couldn’t! Nor can I.
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 9, 2009 at 9:53 AM UTC
If a tale need be tattled,
the snawky Snawk would arise.
With its snickley tongue of arsenic blue,
and loathsome gamboge eyes.
To the King of the stickley Snicklers,
the Snawk would spill his talk.
But scuttlebutt was all t'was,
for he was but a snawky Snawk.
Might you ask
who am I be?
I am a jawky Jawk
who talks incessantly
of the snawky Snawk,
with his snickley tongue,
and his breath of kyarn,
and Beelzebub dung.
You see I knows of him all too well
and well he knows of me.
Invidious brothers, one of the other,
same Mother both have we.
Now the snawky Snawk spins yarns
so dark and thick and odious.
One might find his fatuous canards
to be though flatulent, commodious.
But If ye be a gawky Gawk
of the snawky Snawk beware,
For his loathsome camboge eyes
can squinny a ribald stare.
To your knees his gaze will bring you,
you'll tell all the tales you know.
Then he'll tattle them to the Snickler King
and off to the headsman you will go.
That is, unless, you know the ballad
the Snawk is most offended by.
'bout the frowzy blowzy stable boy
with only just one eye.
He lost his eye in a snickering match
twixt The Snickley King and he.
But got the best of the old nabob,
for he could cachinnate you see.
He did cachinnate and aggravate,
till the old King did concede.
The stable boy was the better of the two,
his tongue cut like a snickersnee.
For the frowzy blowzy stable boy
was not able to tell a lie,
nor could he mince his words with honey,
of the truth he could not hide.
And if one day you find yourself
in the land of the quidnunc kith.
Shun the snickley Snicklers,
and their sniggering King forthwith.
But if ye meet up with the stable boy
though untidy he may be.
Dare not tattle of a soul,
he'll let fly his snickersnee.
And remember well, the ballad he sings,
of the King he did do down.
Drink in its waspy strain and keep it nigh,
lest the snawky Snawk cometh 'round.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Chaos on earth,
chaos among man,
when the devil emerged,
and hatched an evil plan.
Beelzebub came from the ground and,
Beelzebub raided the towns and,
Beelzebub destroyed all around him,
and Beelzebub killed all the townsmen.
He marched across the land,
destroying all the cities,
killing all of man,
with no remorse, no pity.
Beelzebub came from the ground and,
Beelzebub raided the towns and,
Beelzebub destroyed all around him,
and Beelzebub killed all the townsmen.
Hell is on earth,
hell is in the sky.
Everyone who lives,
eventually will die.
Beelzebub came from the ground and,
Beelzebub raided the towns and,
Beelzebub destroyed all around him,
and Beelzebub killed all the townsmen.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
A lying brother was paralyzed with fear
When the Father of lies drew his evil lance.
The devil threw his pointy pitchfork,
Signaling the start of the Satanic Dance.
The Power of darkness finally hopped and began to shuffle
With the day closing fast;
The brother lost his soul
As Satan danced his last.
The Thief twirled around the Tree of Knowledge
As hot sparks pierced the sky.
I know not why God appeared then,
But all was lost as He began to cry.
As God brutally tore off the Wicked One's limbs
Beelzebub screamed and slithered away.
God desperately searched for the lost brother's soul,
But, alas, the Serpent still has it to this very day.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
Have you never told the truth
Even in your untrustworthy youth?
Did ever make a habit of saying what you mean?
You’re the biggest fake and loser many have ever seen.
When you look into the mirror, what is it you see?
Can you tell how far you’ve fallen from humanity?
You’re always lyin’, lyin’, lyin’!
So shove it where the sun don’t shine.
You make up crap so fast you can’t keep track.
So much sounds like it came out of the other crack.
You cheat and brazenly brag about your cheating.
At the Devil’s table you needn’t worry about seating.
You’ll be right there at Beelzebub’s right hand
And you’ll have friends there, won’t it be grand?
You’re always lyin’, lyin’, lyin’!
So shove it where the sun don’t shine.
The way you look and dress, and your awful voice
Makes me change the channel if I have any choice.
If the gym I go to has you on the cable TV
I switch the gym I go to as quickly as can be.
I never take kindly to liars and to bragging thieves.
I hope your crimes will match the penalty you receive.
You’re always lyin’, lyin’, lyin’!
So shove it where the sun don’t shine.
Brent Kincaid
5/20/2019
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC
I once wondered what the Devil reads before he goes to sleep in Prada sheets
I found he wears white but feeds the least hungry
Go ahead and eat he told me, it’s food for thought food for death
I can’t catch my breath or brain they brought me here
One dance with the Devil done by 12 I feel so lucky
My bet with Judas just jarred the line call the ******
He stabbed the Devil’s back too but this time for a quid
We left to ***** and loot like teens with stolen credit cards
Maxed out and blacked out murderers with no trust
**** I must be Satan’s rebellious son.
Now reigning in the fire I bring the flames higher
Than they’ve ever been but my back wont be stabbed like his.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 11:48 PM UTC
Oh Donald Trump may be an angry, narcissistic fool;
A racist, a misogynist and all-round half-baked tool.
Upon his nation and the world, he represents a curse,
but all of that's okay, you see, for Hillary was worse!
Oh Hillary, she had mad cow and syphilis and rabies.
She drank the blood of virgins and she lived to dine on babies,
and from her eyes shot laser beams while on a broom she flew.
In every way she's crooked, for The Donald says it's true!
She once was witnessed soaking in a lava-filled hot tub,
where she was playing footsie with her pal, Beelzebub!
To the Gulf and Caribbean she released the hurricane.
She brings the earthquake, fire, plague, and drought and flooding rain!
Although she now is history, with influence no more,
we must all hate her while The Donald's failings we ignore.
So while Trump spews his hate and puts all progress in reverse,
we must embrace his evil ways... For Hillary was worse!
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
I was made in Satan's image
Lucifer gave me eyes of green
I was birthed in a boiling ***
in some blackened tar pit scene
I was given claws engraven
and placed into a grey stone bed
and sometimes when bear my soul
my pearly white skin blazes red
I was crafted with Beelzebub's birthstone
and blessed with a poisoned mouth
but I was told to keep it shut
or Satan says he'll drag me south
I was made in Satan's image
but for once I long to be pure as snow
but Satan tells me I'm a demon
and I'll never go where angels go
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
the shadow cabinet of a cultural marxist
government is filled with them,
these spewing neuro-science pop
zeitgeist, whatever you want to call them,
these culutral darwinists: annoying
as either gnat or **** depends...
depends if there's an evangelical member
of the lord of mosquitos cult,
you know the one... based in the vatican;
p.s. nope... i just got bored of the ****** argument,
these cultural darwinists are like theologians,
sneaky ************* they're just like
theologians: they use the lion and the pigeon
in terms of competing for animals,
like the theologians use the spider and
the spiderweb for their "creator"...
the only problem with this comparison
of man to animal...
well... there's that problem of domesticated
animals... castrating pedigree breeds of cats...
and then the harem of pigs and cows...
how young bulls are slaughtered,
and only one is left to breed with the other
*******
see where cultural darwinism is
heading?
why would i compete for sloppy
seconds... when i ********** like
a woman menstrautes... once a month?
p.p.s. i'm not too good at hebrew,
but if there's anyone out there to provide
the new name for jesus "christ",
please make him the ******* brother of
beelzebub, i.e. the lord of mosquitos.
p.p.p.s. does fine art equal ****
i mean... i ****** off looking at
agnolo bronzino's
venus, cupid, folly & time... um...
maybe i just have refined tastes.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
They’d crashed the party at midnight
Surely, a motley looking crew,
All of them dressed in the weirdest best
That the Monster Shop could do,
There was Beelzebub, and Astaroth
And the pale Witch of the North,
Ahead of the Prince of Darkness in
A goats-head mask, of course.
They didn’t look out of place, for all
The guests were dressed to ****
One attired as a Fairy Queen
While others were dressed to chill,
Out of the mouth of Frankenstein
The blood poured in a stream,
And though it was only cochineal
It brought the odd party scream.
Most had thought it a great idea
(Except for her folks, who’d cursed),
They’d all dress up in the neighbourhood
For Emily’s twenty-first,
They’d even formed a committee so
They knew what they had to do,
And each would be wearing a different face
So there’d only be one, not two.
They studied the Ars Goetia
And scanned it for demon names,
The butcher had come as Malphas for
He only had brawn, not brains,
The newsagent was Vapula
And his errand boy was Baal,
While the postmaster was Sallos
And he came there, bearing mail.
They all were full of the grapes of wrath
As it chimed the midnight hour,
While Emily surged out like a goth
From the depths of her wardrobe bower,
The house, at 22 Rankine Street
In the ‘burb of Astral Downs,
Was built where an ancient charnel house
Had piled the bodies in mounds.
Her folks had put in a swimming pool
Where there’d been a village well,
Right on top of a demon school
In the seventh circle of hell,
The water began to heave and churn
As Beelzebub drew near,
And it cooked a few of the swimmers there
As their laughter turned to fear.
‘You thought that you could make fun of us,’
Said the Prince of Darkness then,
‘For that, we’re making you one of us,
You won’t bother us again!’
The ‘burb dropped into a bottomless pit
That glowed with the flames of hell,
‘A subterraneaun coal seam fire,’
Said the Fire Chief, Adam Schnell.
Emily’s parents came back home,
Sat in the car, and cried,
‘I told her that Goth stuff wasn’t good!’
‘Too late! Our Emily’s fried!’
They filled it in, there’s a parking lot
Where her parents had sat and cursed,
I’d like to bet, they’ll never forget
Their Emily’s Twenty-First!
David Lewis Paget
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
Let's you and I
Climb up high
Into this hive
And hide our lives
Inside
We'll disappear
Into our fears
So no one hears
Or sees our tears
We're mirrors
Come with me
My honeybee
I'll make you free
Just place your knees
Upon the tree
My home is dark
It's like this bark
And you're the spark
I need to start
My heart
Our light in beams
We'll invade dreams
And float like streams
In people's screams
It seems
A macrame
Of honey stains
Adorns the face
Of our dismay
And stays
We live and die
Inside our hive
Just you and I
Til the end of time
But why?
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
Flamboyancy and wit
Such things are of attribute
But one can only imagine!
Imagine that there was this.
Aphrodite has walked
On your toes
But then to imagine
That life would grant
Such fortune as to be
Graced with such misery
But this Flamboyancy and wit--
Where can I find it?
Where must i go; but to
The ends of this world
No--
You see, this Flamboyancy
Found in all it's buoyancy
Among my mind, it
Found all it's Flamboyant wit
Just treading by; and then
it sat at my side in
All it's marvelous, buoyant
wight
In all it's marvelous, buoyant
wit.
So locks of perfection,
Crispy and brown
Armored at the teeth
I wouldn't say more than
Could be meant, but I meant well
As it was a fancy
I've touched this crisp and
It is, but the softest--
Just the greatest of all
Things--
Setting the standard
And there
It sat to my right...
So there's this elaborate Charm
Such flamboyant carelessness
This luxuriant eminence
Of pure intellect
Sports-y and adequate
Not in my reach
But this Flamboyancy and style!
Such wit in her words
Such grace in her laugh
Such power in that mind
And those witty words are
Sharper than paper
For paper cuts hurt more than
The broken bone
And paper cuts can hinder
more than crutches
And Beelzebub does the devil
Set aside,
For hers stare is innocence
That moves mountains
As the hand of God did
And melted Hell's fire
As the ice from Pluto might
Yet no Asclepius is of help
At the sharp pound of her eye
You'll land in a comma
You'd dream of more grace--
Like an angelic Succubus
That kills with innocence
And this Flamboyancy,
This wit--
It sat right at my right
But my inept pliancy
Will find itself in a buoyant
Force of a thousand
Jedi and of a strength that
Only the proper charisma
Could ever properly
Sustain--
And until such appears
I'll just worship that allure--
That accidental allure
Of Universal forces
As that of which is found the second
Iron is formed in a Red Giant
Nothing else would
Please me more...
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
Growing up unguided and penniless
Torturous upbringing pushing me down
A handgun, speculating and rash
Gluttony attempts to smother my eyes
Wearing the condemnation of men
Appropriating the virtues of girls
Feasting in the winds of a fandango
Weakening under the need for support
Emblazoned under the influence of white powder nights
Ceilings lights spinning out of control
Locked up and discover the stars in strife
Sweet seclusion with a Beelzebub for company
Crawling through the gutters on all fours to get out
Black and white key arias connected
Caressing coloraturia platitudes on fire
Busting a gut on the walkway to truth
Peaceful vigilance a bismillah fraternity
Deserted, drowning in civilisation
Tanked, yanked and naked
Is this Mama Mia
Standing on two feet
Rebuked, not loved
Rebellion, unshackled
Revelations, so, not want to die
Reciting bohemian poetry before the bullet strikes high
Scaramouche....
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 1:59 PM UTC
we are the insects trapped inside homemade fly traps
glued on at the roof of the mouth
underbelly, I run around looking for trouble
trailer park princess, bar-fights in every space between my teeth
I'm a child of a child
I beat my paper wings against the shamelessness
Dance like the cigarette breaks are forever
Swisher blunts for the forget-me-not flowers inside backseats of cars, cabs, stolen automobiles
Revenge, locked jaw police officers like the fathers that never let you hold a gun so you become one
Taste blood, tongues, beauty in chaos
loose lips, stolen drugstore mascara and no more bruised knees
Boys like soft but you're the ******* Armageddon, knuckle-ring gods and all
so the men want to be kings and you grow up a feral cat sleeping in twin sized beds with a mouthful of curse words
Lord of the flies, lot lizards and truck-stop races
gritty bathroom graffiti is the cathedral but prayers never stop
Taverns with your name and the angels that spit
The television static never ends here, cicadas
Doors with mosquitoes held hostage, home for supper
wasted by dessert
Down in the dirt, grimy bathtub I unearth all the things I couldn't drink away; all the motel fantasies, cum-stained skirts and the neon lights waiting for the swarm
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
Nothing better than I chance to show you how I’ve froze over hell givin’ Beelzebub a chill,
Your fables hold little weight when you try to justify their existence as long as I continue dissect your deities,
Not that I am entitled but I can careless about how you explain yourself without the brain,
I’ve been broken and forced to put the pieces back together because I’m not ready to embrace the oblivion without a say,
Without of a chance to reciprocate what you didn’t do for me,
I’m telling you to **** yourself till I fill in your grave,
Get ready son for your vacant destiny,
I’m done with the mental constraints of your needs,
I’m fed up with taking a beating for the ignorance that breeds,
Your about to bounce a check that will leave you dangled at the neck,
Not a threat but I didn’t oppress the armed of ancestral resistance,
That desk can’t keep you from the reach of those who believe in unconditional independence,
And you know why you walk a thin line,
It isn’t because of those nickels and dimes you earn overtime,
It isn’t because you drive home to a white picketed life full of lies,
It’s because you know if one of us grabs a mic we might turn to the tide, the next chapter of this species existence,
Making you extinct,
You think daddy’s inheritance will let you pass any Bill,
But it only takes one to change the tone,
One to alter the course of ****** fostered governance,
Not suggesting a Reich’s renovation,
Or an imperialist’s intervention,
But an interruption to this Nation’s corruption,
**** your principals, **** what your father’s told you,
It’s our turn to mend this debilitated democracy,
To end this domesticated atrocity,
So sorry not trying to foment insurrection,
Just asking the children to picket your legislative lickings,
The documents you pen in order to silence dissidence,
But I’m not going to fear old men with millions,
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
From broken to reaching for Revelations,
My chance to spread some angelic wings,
I was eroded by an ****** enlightenment,
With those who knew the limits of lust,
But not individuals of the evening,
Wishing to feel complete,
Once feeling the glory of a lover,
With tangled toes and tossed feet,
Sweat, moans, and humanly harmony,
Realizing the relationship was destined to be a Shakespearean tragedy,
I lost someone I still hold dear to me,
Because I couldn't live that life,
The liar dressed like a priest,
Erased by memories, moans of relief,
Please keep in mind baby,
No dirtiness for me,
I’ve been particular with those laid into the bed of this thief,
Where I can reap the natural fixes of her beauty,
Absent of love,
Away from everything,
With a life too short for worldly inflicted woes,
When your existence is timed by faith filled beliefs,
Making me work for the air I need,
For the breaking that I avoid,
With every breath I take,
I’ll prop you up with a pillow,
Life will break you at the jaw,
Before sucker punching you into the ground,
****** bruised, and still lacking a crown,
It will be tough but you can defy,
What we think is divine,
Tap into that humanity,
Pay homage to the genes that evolved till they could conceive,
Convince some Apes to use their knees
From paws to fists,
From animals to intellectual fruition,
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC
I can hear
Your whispered words
Your evil thoughts
Plaguing my mind
I can feel those looks
Despising me
Judging me
With tempered thoughts
And satirical mocks
I can see them
Hiding in the darkness
I can see them
Their clawed hands
Reaching out with
Darkened Vengeance
My Paradise Lost
I see your Beelzebub
Your minions
Your Igor
Mocking me
Taunting me
You coward,
You fiend!
Stay out of my mind
Out of my life
My dreams
You steal away
My originality
Myself
The me I have become
And who is this creature
This monster
In my reflection?
With hardened eyes
And guarded heart
I pray today
I will sleep away
This mentality
This disease
And be one of THEM
One of THEM
If only for a day
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
I can’t breathe right anymore,
Ever since I've found myself
Beating down the Devils door.
“Beelzebub, Satan!
Let me in
I can’t keep running,
Father of Sin”
Trip
Trip
Trip
I can’t feel my feet touch the ground,
I’m only aware
Of this insane
ripping sound.
Barren
Barren
Barren
Looking up to the sky
I can’t help but cry,
“Lucifer what have you done
It seems heaven’s run dry!”
Empty
Empty
Empty
“Oh no, you Old Serpent!
I’m afraid my insides are out,
How can I proceed
With my intestines strewn about?”
Slip
Slip
Slip
I can not take this,
My head is pounding,
Every sound resounding,
This head ache is a killer.
I only complain
About this tension in my brain,
Since for organs
I've already found a Filler.
As the ground cackles open,
(“Look who finally answered the door!
Antichrist, you Tempter, did you not hear me knocking before?”)
I see one small problem,
A phantom tickle, a teasing *****
For in all of my life
I've never been this famished, that I can assure!
Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
The world into my now vacuous
Gaping hole of a stomach,
A true bottomless pit.
For I will not leave this life
With nothing to show for it!
No more stars, I will keep them for myself,
let the moon shine it's dull light
in the spotlight,
with no one to share it's empty stage.
And maybe now,
Converter of Angels,
With the universe stored safely
Within the wormhole in my body,
My gaping wound,
Personification of ******
Maybe now,
With Star-Filled-Guts
I will shine again.
The fiery sparks of hell
Will be no match for the likes of me,
For all who dare look
Will be blinded instantly.
I’ll be so incandescent
You’ll see me from afar
For haven’t you heard, Fallen Angel?
I’m Hell’s North Star.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
The ancient satin tapestry
hangs ragged on a wall
Depicting scenes of chivalry
that no one can recall
And as the candles flicker out
and shadows disappear
There sits alone in darkened hall
a single Musketeer
He hears again from pits of Hell
a rising steady roar
Beelzebub appears anew
to pound the drums of war
So as in every age of man
with shield and with sword
He leaves his love, his land, his life
to go and fight the horde
And as with ages long ago
he shouts the battle cry
And it never does occur to him
to ask the ******** why
So he fights and kills
for Kings and Queens
who tally up the score
And he thinks by shedding
so much blood
he'll put an end to war
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
Beelzebub is just one name,
What they stand for is all the same.
Cast out of heaven for not following the rules,
The bowels of the universe, molten lava for pools.
How does it feel to burn night and day,
Or is freezing cold, truly hells way.
Are you alone, I would say no,
But short of souls, definitely so.
God gives his children the chance to repent,
Until the last moment, the reaper is sent.
I'm sure you throw parties, good times do abound,
But never again to hear harps sweet sound.
It may be a sin, but I pity your soul,
Only you have the power and total control.
Over dank dark places, no one wants to live,
Why not ask god, to look fast and forgive.
He is a great being, full of wisdom and is just,
Forget all the struggles, in the past they are dust.
Let him know over is the war,
Souls you'll release, and torture no more.
Pray for forgiveness, I know he will hear,
It may take a while, even several year.
But god loves his flock, and Satan its true,
Scream to the heavens, and no more are you blue.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 10:14 AM UTC