Rhapsody of the Rotting Rejected

A memory-only satisfying to those

unlike us malcontent.

The power gratifying my foes

seems to strike us now and then.

To smite the un-foulest men

and incite those down with sin

my fight isn’t found within

as I bight my frown again.

 

My philosophy-woe is me.

My life is the corrupt autocracy.

Freedom flows so free

in the pool of blood on top of me.

I’m a tool, a drug, a mockery

a fool, a thug.  A lot in me

cools the blood I got in me.

Pull the mud on top of me!

 

A penny worth of thoughts,

my past isn’t worth a dime

in my future’s bank.  My actions could

not reimburse my mind.

You know it hurts sometimes.

It’s like a curse, the rime

of the ancient mariner,

sporting an albatross around my neck.

 

My purpose is not founded yet

and religion is bound with threats.

The s**t that I’m on opens dimensions

and makes mortals doubt their death.

I’m all about what’s kept

behind the mouth.  Respect

for life has vanquished.  

My heaven blankets only what’s south of it.

 

Broken needles in bulging scabs

I only am a lonely man

with soaking hands that hold each plan

perpendicular to the flesh.

With an albatross around my neck

like a tourniquet strangling steps

To talk so trife, the rot of life is

in particular in my breath.