Poetry From LM (Me)

The Terror Inside

The pope is screaming.
The little boy is bleeding.
Mothers to their children cry.
Memories of old lovers die.
Everyone keep watching.
The thing is scratching.
The terror inside begs, released,
Sate my hunger at least.

The popular harlot wanders.
The dying poor squanders.
Satan lovers beg for God's mercy.
God listens; doesn't want to see. Perhaps now justice is served?
Tell me Christians is it deserved?
Allowing priests to lead without him.
Now the dawn light grows dim.
Everyone keep watching.
The thing is scratching.
The terror inside begs, released,
Sate my hunger at least.

Poor widow, he watches you cry.
You hope and wish you'd just die.
Hellfire catches in his tongue.
saying words that would've stung.
The bullies become bullied.
Homophobes become sullied.
The truest evil walks the earth.
Stay to the end and learn, but sit at my hearth.

Begging for mercy she gets none.
Poor girls whose lives are done.
Young gay boy hung by his neck. Left like an old card deck.
The gay boy's lover leaves the flowers.
Begging to all the higher powers.
All the evils sit and laugh.
A.9mm shell marks the epitaph.

Crying out to ones forgotten.
Screams in Hell of misbegotten.
"Thou hast no power here."
Screamed within angry fear.
Lets focus not on lovers but those that hate.
"The adrenaline feeling of a kill feels great!"
Twas a paraphrased thought of our greatest threats.
Come now sweet children, place your bets!

Pleading for lives they whine.
Strangers watch them dine.
Son devours mother tormented.
The bread he uses fermented.
Cannibalism is something we find in something to spurn.
Brother in a pot as the water boils and gas burns.
Devourers of kin cause such a panic.
Maybe because we can't see through reality like a manic.

"Six-six-six" they beg for the beast!
He sits on obsidian throne enjoying the feast.
Science made heresy once again.
The sins of our fathers become its den.
"Denizens of eternal fire!" they call.
"Come now, and turn the world to her molten pyre!"
Burn heresy so evil may not thrive.
Evil's forces never forced to return to the hive.

Special killings called Matricide and Patricide.
These special cases are simply fancy homicide.
To hate ones father so much as to kill him.
For the golden string, the fates, must trim.
Infanticide, killing of infants, the brutality.
This culls the New race and begets a regime of Totality.
Whosoever kills thine child or another child must suffer Hell.
The weeping mother's bear the responsibility to tell.

Blasphemy! A sin of sins!
Knocking any gods lovers over like bowling pins.
Believeable lies we tell our children.
Unknowingly thinking they may accept it with innocent grin.
The bite of this sin coming from seemingly unseen jowls.
Dragging those not worthy of it's rewards into the bow'ls!
"Turn hearts to God!" the blasphemous preacher calls.
"Sit thee down, knave," come followers of God's words out stalls.

Its time I end this!
We praise the devil's numbers.
Even this poem is six-six-six words, quite an abyss.
This curse Upon us, that first encumbers.
Another flame for desecrated mound.
The mother watches in Hell.
I do so hope you'll stick around.
There May be more to this I may tell.
Pretenders of illness, "who art thou!"
Liars to be victims!
I'll break my pattern of rhyme for all the purposes!
I joke none of this and I'll not take a bow.
They tell me a picture is worth a thousand words.
If need be I'll write double thine evils, thine curs!
A bridge longer than a stanza.
We all know evil's propaganda.
Evil begets evil and we show our true selves.
Look into yourself and think if it's an abyss which one delves.
I season nothing and to these we must be jaded.
We must never cause any lines to be faded.
Everyone keep watching.
The thing is scratching.
The terror inside begs, released,
Sate my hunger at least.