YOU CALL ME HERETIC
YOU CALL ME A BLASPHEMER
i am not your righteous saint
and i am not dutiful servant
i am no more pure than you,
no more tainted than you
yet you condemn me to flames and yell obscenities to damn my immoral soul
until you froth at the mouth
I AM DAMNED
I AM UNHOLY
say your hail marys and send up your prayers
cry out in anguish and scream in your sorrow
you have accused me by fallacy and
charged me for heinous crimes
now i will show you the horror you fear and inspire terror in every blackened heart that beats behind your chest,
it won't for much longer
THIS IS WHAT I POSSESS
THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BECOME
christen me vile and call me abhorrent
let me suffer punishment for all of my
wicked ways if that is such an end
but do not beg for forgiveness when i am not your savior, you have made that so clear
you have silenced our call for reprieve
i would have gladly burned down to
the bone but you have harmed my sister
don't you weep in your anguish
you choose this fate;
I AM ONLY THE EXECUTIONER
- the declaration of vengeful witches
(aka i read the scarlet letter and learned about the witches of salem and got pissed off at puritans)
(happy halloween!)
YOU ARE READING
Symptoms of Starlight | Poetry
Poetry"you've been brushed by the need for something greater, your head waits for a crown." In which a girl writes down everything from 2 am thoughts to afternoon drabbles to empowering poems in hopes it all means something.
