Monstrous Books > The Monstrous Library

He was God

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Alexander:
Upon his hill so high, that little alcove,
laughing, coughing, and missing the point.
There he was - he always was, always will,
back it up he says, dead and restlessly.

He saved me once, yes, at that murderous lake,
sometimes that place, gets kind of empty.
He was looking for them - I just wish I knew,
what has been lost, forever his blind eyes search.

An abandoned dispatch, a platoon - bristling horrors,
old scratching branches on rusting recollections.
Stuffed inside that filthy hollowed shell,
a filling of sweet banality for the wicked.

Wise as they are, shaking heads - bumping shoulders,
cracking fingernails, poking holes in the dirt.
Smells invade my privacy, rotting thoughts,
garbage, gagging I cough and stumble.

Purity, an illusion for the weak, truth in lies,
the darkness of radiance draws me ever closer.
I smile, just almost within his feeble grasp,
an outstretched hand - brushing the rags of despair.

The dying exclamation uttered upon an ebbing breeze,
a shiver in the birth of time, a heartbeat.
Nobody is hurt, I promise to him with a bow,
teeth - an overexposure to cruelty and life.

The bottle did not help - the comfort of it gone,
so close to ruin, yet so far away from happiness.
He tried to leave, after all he had done for me,
do not take it away, one thing I believed in.

Trust my forbidden words - please, the burning coals,
far from the beginning, writhing in this cold misery.
So long ago I tried to leave, failing again,
a grin breaks my lips, the end has finally come.

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