I, the Leviathan
‘Twas all thy impropriety,
For, I hung upon your neck,
Desecrating and withering away;
Wrenching you to your cessation.
In your breathe, all I can be,
Is a repugnant, vile leviathan.
Something so contemptible,
I’m merited to tribulation.
Contrite, I could never feel;
Not for you. Not ever.
Heedless, there’s too much to spare,
Within thy tormented subconscious.
And love nor adulation,
Could ever I bestow,
To any such a human,
Within this world a’ low.
Copyright © Nicole King | Year Posted 2010
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