deepundergroundpoetry.com
Wring the Fetus
Everyone gathers their breaths
though no one knows whar happens after Death
Three is my favorite number
I called God three times, but each time
I'm clammed ib wonder
Maybe luck is the mitten of Fate
obscuring bright
voids in Atals's fingers
it lays on the ground, spread out
like false eagle wings; who knew one could truly fly?
Now I know how Eve felt, praying for a Wringr
the inception squirming in her stomach,
the sky turns in mine
O' wicked horizon of pink and orange smiles, you
bear lies
You should have been the Maker's last design
Morbidity swims in unholy shallow water at the
end of each rainbow,
why is it so hard for people to see the naked truth?
It's there, its there! Like its always been.
People are still holding breaths,
believing what the world tells them
I shake my head in disgust at their fatuity.
They fail to quake with the realism thar
the serpent is the white glory, hahah
silly fools.
The fetus is the immortality of Fate.
Others call it God's will- Hm. Be my guest then.
I sit in the corner
of the human sacrifice,
blood pouring from each orifice.
Childbirth,
it's remains tainting the earth once more.
Get ready folks, but first get real
the end is no where near.
The sacrifice, poor girl, screams ib
release. A curse,
a gift has been born:
Another woman.
Here we go again.
Everyone exhales, Death's tardiness
is just a ruse, hahaha
you people are so screwed
My spirit in the wall
points at me for I know- the Chosen one- what I must do
With hands on the baby's trachea,
she's screaming in my ear
Shhh, shhh,
I'm ending your- would-be-misery-my-dear.
I hear a sneeze
The baby's neck snaps
The mitten is swiped away
a Druid coughs
blood spurting for his throat, see where lies get you? What a shame.
the sacrifice to the goddess is lost
and behind me who now
angry, the invisible devil shouts
and like a virgin's first time and
the beginning of creation
a little demon cashes out.
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