That Time When [DATA CORRUPTED]

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Contently Deranged Travelers

Submitted: August 07, 2018

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Submitted: August 07, 2018

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Harken back your memory pristine.
Harken, and labour, that cacophonous scream;
A note no Hell, in their tiers, could permit,
Evoked from blackest, slimiest pit.

You know what these words refer to.
It was you.  You did it.
They didn’t have to suffer like that.
But they did and it was all your fault.

It keens and it laughs, that wondrous blight;
A blemish so feverishly wrought overnight.
Pray tell the comeuppance you writhe to recur
In the worst of your dream’s most taunting blur?

You could have changed.
You could have been good.
But you never did.  You never were.
You were always a wretched thing.

Genius was the certain, objective plot
Of flawless design; yet perfection forgot.
Squealing ablaze spares not the swine,
But surely your searing will fade like mine.

You had the right idea when you tried to end it all
But Death finds you just as repulsive.
You don’t deserve life, but you can't die
Because you don't deserve rest either.


© Copyright 2018 M. A. Yacone. All rights reserved.

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