by Fiza Pathan
Sacrilege is the tower of this nation,
Under my chest and within my heart which burns with hate.
Rage in turbulence and damnation valid,
Are all of my thoughts-dreams-desires.
Forsaken am I, to the hounds of my weary mind.
I have not had even a moments rest,
I have no peace within me to call upon when I am in need.
Since you said plainly, that you did not want me anymore
Since then have I plagued my thoughts with scenes of your corrupting flesh.
I swear upon my books and my parchments sacred,
I will avenge my broken existence.
I will shun the world into the cauldron of black scum.
Hideous are my words upon which I erect my cross oh dear lover!
The stake of the mighty Dracula will I pierce your shamed red heart with.
Blasphemous are my woes, unto all the gods
Who cursed my life with thirst as scorching as my anger.
Tear down my corpse for what is now left of me.
Since you have played suitor to my best friend
I have no more need of any proof.
I will judge you upon the scales of the headless horseman of doom,
Just you wait as I make my preparations lover of mine.
Sacred blood of the Messiah, fill me with nourishment
And drive these weak tears from my eyes this minute.
Hail to the bound dog whose flesh has been torn,
From his skull to his claws whenever he tries to free himself.
Must I moan like a fool always and shake off my burden,
And drink the alcohol of sacrilege now.
I run away from myself but in the bargain I scourge my body,
I can’t tell anyone of the nightmares that haunt me during daylight.
I wish for death and yet I wish for one more chance to change my course.
Satan derides me, he roams around me clutching my long hair in evil mirth.
He whips me with a string of broken skull heads with bone intact.
He spits upon my small happy thoughts and grins into my soul.
Must I bear the brunt of a crime I have not done,
Must sacrilege always be done only by the weak.
I’ll murder the arteries that run warm ruddy blood
Into my core of endless melancholy.