It’s hard not to notice.
That you think of we as us.
And it boggles me because
I work hard at keeping you as nothing.
It’s not about you, Miss center of the universe.
You babbling attention grabbing center of this verse.
Oh me, oh my, he’s written something again,
And I’m sure it’s about me and my witchy hairy chin.
So listen to me and my crazy rant, so you will protect me from his irrelevance.
Watch him and hound him for my every chance,
To crucify and pierce him with my petty little lance.
For once long ago he showed me his soul. And so I must destroy him. It’s my one and only goal.
It might help you to know, you deluded squak,
That except for now I’ve never written or talked
Stop flattering yourself.
Tickling Death chases dawn,
smeared lipstick down her chin.
Torn knee pantyhose,
a stumbling fall,
one eyelash half unglued.
And yet comes life,
a starlight gaze, breaking Sun.
Moreso that, the lackluster gaze,
of Tickliing Death’s shadow, fading away into the cobblestones,
hiding for another day.
Until dusk again, old girl.
Better luck for you is only some day away.
That day, that holy day…
That day I’ll acquiesce,
and not kick your puny ass.
For that day God will rise,
and call me to a greater cause.
So that day you may have your way.
you cunt whore, your world, your life of pain and despair.
You will part your lips and swallow me whole,
leave me under your vanity skin so shallow.
Like a seed to grow and destroy you.
And I will be your last –
for after you will be sent to reign over the only dead.