I tired of your melancholy accursing
the page in a child’s rage,
the swinging pendulum of a
promiscuous prick teasing succubus,
swimming in the pits of
reality displaying sexuality.
Hands stained, morality
lost in translation begging for
any Gods elation.
I tire of this game of condemnation,
send me home to the
flaming pits of my dark lord and
let him breathe fire into my soul,
fuck it create a vortex
let me be swallowed by
a giant black hole i’ll sign my
name across the skies in black kohl.
Burn me upon the
stakes in which I was born,
utter hate within
prayers for the devil,
my lord, he hears every
whisper anger is his
Butter wouldn’t melt oh but
you are the devils girl, you win,
you have ruined my world.
Karen Hayward ©2016