mockery  

o, to those whose malodorous fecal drippings which drip so heavily onto the page, in meter and rhyme, allow me my slightest comfort, dare i say, allow me my darts, slings and arrows so that i may attack your wounds & walls at my leisure, placing my pressure ever so carefully into the torn flesh of your emotions for the mere sake of my own enjoyment and lubrication at the sight of your tears for shame! for sorrow! i have become but the dagger sheathed unto you, your heart now a prison for my unending mockery martyr! martyr! the heavens cry and weep yet, i shall not drown in their forty nights of sorrow, only shall i return upon them with thirty nights of violence; a pittance of the retribution grasped in my palm; a bitter revenge of flesh upon flesh ink upon ink, and this ink is cursed to damn yours eternally.

© 2006 Aaron J. Marko