So, do you delight in perverse pleasure as you scuttle resignation amongst many quivering souls…how does it feel, to be castigated amidst hatred, to be the vile venom amongst chattering constituents who forever crumble in fear at your wretched breath. Does wrath still impeach you with cretinous loathing, where stoic refusal to wield to your selfish, scathing sensibilities that sear the superficial wounds inflicted by his enveloping rage.
Does it still bother that he is in favour, that you have been spurned to defile the flotsam of fallibility? Can you still taste the silver of his blade, the sweat of his determination, and does it harbour deep within your own being, as you do within those of mere mortals who masticate upon the menace you wrought with disdain.
How does it feel to not be all conquering, as the jesters of heaven's court dance around the poetic ramblings that further impale your reputation. Do you cower in your underworld, where creatures of convenience castrate sinners, and do you even acknowledge their screams of abomination, or does the symphony of decomposition and the river of blood soothe your wounded ego.
Does the covenant of life itself infuriate you, should that have been your victory, your inheritance, your destiny...and still, within you death, you're embroiled in this nocturnal existence, where stealth and blatant disgust are strewn within your distaste for mortal flesh.
Did the scars never heal, do they still settle upon nerves like strychnine; spasmodic with convulsions that asphyxiate your own ideals…retribution is revenge, I see that clearly in your distraught eyes, it intermingles with the cataclysmic bigotry you harness, and it shines forth with each subsequent conviction that evaluates a lifetime of unimportance…tell me death
is that the echoes of God’s laughter I hear?
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
