I suck at titling things so this is my title.(It is a TL;DR)
By Still_I_Cry 16 Comments
Tried my best. Hope whoever reads it gets some form of enjoyment, whatever it may be, out of it.
Edit : Fixed some of the typos I found. I also changed whatever was there before frayed to..well..frayed :)
Edit 2: Fixed more typos, changed a few words around.
Edit 3: Changed some more words, fixed some punctuation, tense and word errors.
The maid.
Walks me to the study, I observe,
There is nothing unique about her physique.
Stump legged, stout, plain faced, pale.
Plain.
She gurgles a common courtesy
Of which I care not to acknowledge.
With a sigh of contempt, or perhaps
Not contempt, it matters not to I.
Dismissed!
Now I, I reside on this lush armchair,
So very plump, glutted with the feathers
Of one avian creature or another.
You greedy little chair!
The stuffy study
Suffocates me with the
Odor of musty books. The shelves bursting with theology
Seem to stare, nay, glare my way. I ask of them,
“What need have I of John, Epistles or Deuteronomy?”
God does not call, or visit, or write.
Lord knows! He has my number, my address.
I see no need to talk to or visit him in turn,
Such is the way of a healthy friendship.
[Are we friends God? Answer me!]
I snort in derision. I need no God.
I am God, my own God.
The Devil quakes, I perceive. He fears me.
[What nonsense! A creation of theologians and nothing more]
A curious rattle from-
From the as of now fringed contempt,
As of soon-
An odor.
Cloying and viscous,
Heavy and sulfurous,
Assaults my senses, my very being [insidious].
The air.
Now curiously thin and
So very curiously invasive!
The vapors crawl along
My sweaty, clammy flesh.
Sentient, they seek my deepest secrets,
The darkest recesses of my intellect.
They work their way into my veins via my pores
And deviously invade my heart, my mind.
The books.
Gone, nay, replaced.
Dante’s Inferno, Milton’s Paradise Lost,
The writings of De Sade in gold embossed.
“Good day, Good day!”
A satin voice rends the air,
Cheery, light,
Neatly laced in decay.
A gentleman
[Elegant in ensemble.
In custom and manner, he is well versed]
Leans casually on the ash colored door frame.
Now I, I cannot act.
Restrained upon my throne
By skeletal fingers wrapped in
Rosary beads and flayed Bishop vestments.
“Do you believe in Satan?”
Frantically, fearfully, I shake my head “No”.
“Ah, good! He was but a counterbalance. A concoction
Created by the minds of desperate theologians to explain Evil.
Those clever, clever men!
Your parents and your priests
Who professed for Me, My love for you, all of you.
Who are you, you whom I created in my visage,
[To which you disgrace me, may I add]
To speak of My intent towards you?
Humanity begs and grovels when it fits their needs,
Sing my praises when they have nothing for which to plead!
They curse me[heathens] when I sit and watch
Them, their families, swept away, crushed,
Poisoned, victimized, cancer ridden, in a hospice bed they lie.
Die.
Filthy, spoiled, transparent, self-entitled bastards!
You who mock me, you who worship me, you who
Know not if I am.
I am Who am!
Your parents, Bishops, priests, those who scorned,
Those who mocked, those who denied, those who worshipped,
They now dine at my table!
Laughing, jubilant,
With Judas, Lucifer, Hitler and Stalin.
Oh, you may ask them yourself when you arrive!”
I quiver, quake, shrilly cry.
My legs flare, reduced to ashen dust
My body-
[The maid hears the cry.
She finds only a mound of dust,
Brushes it up. Tosses it out
The open window, to be swept away by the frigid morning air.
She swore, to God no less,
That she had beheld a face in the dust as it was whisked away.
She claimed that, though I doubt, it seemed to be wailing in despair.]
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