Alphabet Soup Lettered Shame Not Poetry
Shame is a word that carries a hex,
yet you should feel that very vex,
deep in your skull.
Next gore the scene of the bull.
Impact, skill, unique style, conveyance of message,
that’s what it takes to be a poet.
Not my free time helping your egos,
shame should be all you know.
Think I mean just light no no dark,
dark deserves to rot in Buffalo Bills hole,
grotesque caricatures sway in zeal,
you let a genre almost completely go.
For vampires and werewolves…..
What is wrong with you!?
Shame is all this site should know,
your embarrassments, think I needed you to grow.
I already grew, was looking for poets to carry,
because horror is dying and you all are crying,
whining moaning begging, out your hole,
where were you when horror got down low.
Where were you!?
Yeah I won’t be liking any of your work,
you don’t impress me until you impress me.
There’s no way I am letting a genre die.
Shame should keep you all up at night.
Bang the dirge a siren ululation,
my mirth and visceral rancor!
Where were you I implore!?
But these meandering rodents continue to ignore,
that’s when I said to myself this is what I fight fore,
this right here orchestrates the score,
just wait morsels I like meat in my soup for sure.
Shame is a dish tender marsupial rinds,
more sharpened my axe grinds,
no likes or comments from me a few are alright,
shame etched your tomb when the rest of you die.
Booms the clocktower piercing into the nigh,
this isn’t some hallmark show, more poetic design,
cogs crafted flesh and bone of the liars echoed cries,
shame the sound you hear the rest of your life.
Hide away behind those glass screen and blinds,
shame still lurking festering minds insides,
pouring out your eyes and out your mouth lies
to help your pathetic husk sleep at night.
Shame for the wannabes and thieves,
dark lovers who are just real sick creeps,
the ones who you know like to lick each others feet,
shame is all the words in the mirror you should speak.
Shame for balance and rebirth to avoid a hearse,
the very genre that spur hearses birth,
you weak minded wiggling boring worms.
Shame to the normal pervasive germs.
You make me sick maintain your oozy ick,
cough self served to your covenant,
yeah you think you can hunt me like a witch,
watch this eldritch chick grab your jaw and rip.
Shame is all any of you poetry haters get!
Come now comment let’s start this sh*t!
I’ll cut you up poetically dance in your crimson mist!
Shame is something you won’t forget!
Make me sick!
Ha!
Copyright ©
Beatrix Macabre
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