Gedicht

The old foul bitches grabbed the power

that turned out to be rotten meat

of aborted babies, tortured hope

and lost birds that fell out of the sky

killed by the one curse and the other lie.

 

So now slothfully on that thrones of mistreat

they grimly overlook their supposed empire

that appears from the bottom against each hill

filled with foamy stinking self-eating mouls

and the sound and smell of coping slime.

 

They don’t see the nothingness they reign

the destruction they mindless gave birth to

they think they did well – no regrets and still

none of their senses notice the sword behind

that will shred them to shit of the same kind.

Geef een reactie