October 30, 2010
By Anonymous

Set to the tune of a rent lament
When the ebony skies came alight
Earth was churned upon her corpse
My sweet Tabitha, no more
Maggots churned
In her split underbelly
Becoming an eviscerated murderdoll
Treacherous Christ, you would stop her breath?
I would sooner stop my own

Essences within me torn by the claws
I flew like Death to the men of the cloth
Where jovial laughter shat like vomit
From the rotting holes on their faces
Charcoal-hearted for my dearly departed
They turned with a snap to terror
It was my turn for joy
With their bowels set loose
Sitting pooled in their filth and my hate

This, I knew, my last noble act
So I turned to Christ on the Cross
He'd witnessed their crimes and seen my redemption
And now it was time to rest
Stinging, searing, I feared not the pain
To the loss of Her, it was nothing
I drew my last breath upon the corpses of the hated
Hung to my corpse like a cloth, my soul
Was satisfied at last

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