| » Poem: CHRIST IS GOD! |
CHRIST IS GOD!
written by Genocide Reaper05:12 AM 10/21/04by (anonymous) (10-19-2004 - 06:51 AM)
Your filled with so much hate yet you want us to believe that it is so fun to be a god to yourself. In the end what is your life going to count for? What it is going to amount to? You will be able to say you got what you could for youself.....and you will be in a hell of your own making. The King who died for you is real and gave His life just for you to get you out of the hell of being your own pathetic god.
*takes a drag off of his cigarette.* Hey. *exhales slowly* You want hate? Hmm, that what you want young one? Some one to speak down at you? Some one to mock you, and show you how much you sicken them? Act your part, now on my dick suck, begin to start. Worthless coward, couldn't leave a name, you must suffer from a flood of disdain. Now where is your christ? *looks around* Oh wait, I remember. Hell.. Bow to infectious messiah. Spreading his virus through out the world, brain washing the young and old, being used as a role model, suffer for loving a man made of flesh and bone. Benign, inept, his story, his glory, his constant reminder of my soul, and saving it. Save cash, saving whores, this is what I see him being known for. Bow to infectious messiah. Pimp, Con-artist, son of a Roman soldier. Momma got raped, so his mind went blank, momma made him fuck that sand infested twat. Now do you like me sheep? Hmm? Do you!? I hope you do, because I fucking hate you. From your toes to the very tip of your hair. I despise you. From the skin under your nails, that you scratched off the back of your brother while you became his incestious lover. To that skanky ass thats dripping with his cum. I'll mock you, I'll cut you down to size, then I'll make sure you meet a tormenting demise. Follower, toy, blind sheep being led to the slaugher, massacre of free thought. Some one without a hope in Hell of being saved. Preach to me, and I'll raise Hell. I'll make sure to leave a dent inside of you, and make sure death is what you smell, burning flesh, rotting cunt, putrid little punk. Waste of air and space, taste my hate. Waste of potential and blood. Race to the stage, play your part, actor of the cattle. Caress my hand, I'll lead you to your grave. Sheepish, shy, little unrelenting liar, drown yourself, do me a favor, then I won't have to fucking hear about a mortal man being my savior. You are, mindless, brain washed, controled down to the very last article of your being, you are a puppet, dance puppet dance. *watches the Cattle pull your strings as they read from a Book* I think your under some sort of spell, I think they cast a hex to control you, I think you got fucked by daddy, or was it mommy? I hate you. Can you tell? Still want to say I'm going to Hell? Still want to try and sell me lies and tell me what I believe? Whore, skank, slut, dead beat loser, more than likely a fucking drug abuser. You, you need a solution to your mental malfunction. Iv got it right here. A fucking bullet. A bullet will cure your senseless bullshit. |
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Author's footnotes and comments on this Poem:
Love my sarcasm?
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| » Comments / Feedback | by dacode05 (11-3-2004 - 11:31 AM)
| id rather sell my soul to even sarcasm before bullshit...im kinda touchy about my soul though. and i dont think my neighbor really can "deliver" anyone, or she'd smile more. thanx for making the point dear reaper... |
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