If time folded at my supplication

You should be an envelope full of words of yearning

The discourse of your salacity for my flesh in your hands

I will dispatch into the universe

Hoping a worm hole will devour and spit you out

Forming a new macrocosm where I am God

And you but a canker

An affliction that begs destruction

I shall smite you

You shall cower covered in the dialect

You once knew as your own

Only to see armies rise up

To destroy your misrepresentation

There will be no cross for you

You are no savior

You are but a blemish

Upon any world

You choose to inhabit

Your beseeching to me

Your god

Will go unheard

As I move onto another

More interesting endeavor


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Lucas J. Draeger
    Jan 14, 2014 @ 21:04:42

    Outstanding, dear lady


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