The Unclean
Defiled, bleeding cadaver
Conceals the torn, useless flesh which has nurtured his weakness,
From his birth to his death,
Through every agonizing breath
From seeing to blind,
He fucks his own mind
In the back of his brain
He is learning the strain
Of the chains which now keep
His shrinking mind from all sleep
Corrupted corpses collect in the corners
Hiding the bitter sweet fruits death has to offer
Throughout life into the grave
Malicious angels leave him raped
Until this flesh is born anew
His unheard screams will only stew
And I rejoice through horrid moaning,
As troubled children reach out, groaning
For soon the gates reveal the master
Which leave the victims breathing faster
Forest cellars cloak the shadows passing through experience,
Ritualistic lust for the dead is all we expect from the blackening masses,
Malevolent personalities,
Dictating evil claiming the tools,
Bow before this idol you have enthroned
Consume the enraptured vessels labeled slaves,
They are the footstool,
This earth is the throne
poem by Jack Cropes
Added by Poetry Lover
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