"I've got this killer up inside of me... I can't talk to my mother, (friends, women, coworkers, associates, affiliates, city council, the internets, the homeless or even your mother) so I talk to my diary."

-that Scarface song from Office Space

Scourge of God/Scud for Posterity

-V-

Lick her,
Ichor
Not poisonous…?
Thou weren’t a goddess!

Nor even a cur of wicker
To be sac’d
By the loveless,
Knee-bent herds
Who pray to thee,
Prepared to burn human bridges
In a bet, to see
Who ignites and whom
Arises to be a shepherd tasked
With courting the bleak,
weak,
ill
and in ways set
A pact of men,
Tamed
In which water runs thicker.

Zeal is at a demise
As fervor,
Kingdom, or otherwise
A Woman or of men,
That place has been
Cauterized.

Cut, severed
And burned shut.

We were the daemons
That brought it to extremis
Men on who’s backs that it was raised for
But then shackled to pleasure it
So thus we razed it!
Tore down the bits of it within us
Which we had used
To measure for it.

A destructed
Willing structure
That which maleficence gleaned:
For the passion
Of the men of stature
Had been wrought the Mammon Machine.

I wish unto me to be
A libertine
But I cannot myself free…

I succor on pleasures
That would otherwise disdain,
How the seed gets coughed
Back out of her mouth
Yet and still I would
Find myself in pain!
My vengeance leads right
Back to thee!

A constructed
Man wrought function
Through which malfeasance had been strewn:
In exaction
On the wreath of infatuation
Adorned,
Was the portent of doom.

You all here,
Bereft of sky
Thus, a superlative to reach,
The Earthbound plane
Becomes banality to me,
And all your wars fought
Cause astringency
To my courage,
Mistaking
Ideology as fodder
For a derivative of modernized
Lack
Of faith.

I, my dear
Desecrate
Decimate,
The syllabic integrate:
Shun all that
Prosthetic, naturalistic
Propagation
I run on pure
Adrenaline and hate
Whilst being
Rhythmically inviolate
My mastiffs seek
Forlorn meat
For me to scathe!

As I am the light
In the scud of
Breaking,
Mordant
Warfare.

A future god
Without care
Of servitude
Or portentous
Tyranny.

And after my scorn
Has worn your geist through,
I still
Fight,
Kill,
Screw and
Build
For my own Paradise.

-Monday, December 15, 2008

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