Perched upon my Mountain
of Agony
my Queen of Filth struggles.
Upon retaining control and ultimate power
through a sewage of words,
solely.
And somehow          we, the subjects,
still fear and retreat,
obedient to the recoiled hand.
stuck...that never   will    strike.
Really.........
Bowing and honoring,
the one who hides.
Whose being plagues the earth
spreading and staining
like an oil dump,
Idle hands that steadily sink
lower and lower
into
nothingness.
      Eventually, that stain in the
dirt will disappear, and then
what shall be left of you?
-An occasional cringe of memory?
-A saddened lower gaze of pity?

You!
SLOTH!!
Wallowing in your decay.
                          Your crown of fake stones
will not last forever. 
Already the dullness of your feined reality is
darkening the bright facade.
That illusion will not withstand this fury.

No longer will you rule this life!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
How many times?






I
one of many.........


But I cannot.
WILL NOT swim in your shit anymore.
The rest will silence their opinions;
will kiss you with their smiles
and conversation.
Yet your piercing gaze is upon me!
The free spirit.
The one pulling away.
Wielding your power by weakness
of a soft heart.
The artifice of my ruin.


I have claimed defiance
time and time
through my escape;
my words.
But my roots have now dug deeper
entwined with his spine
striving to reach deity.
And as often as I have claimed clarity,
NOW.  I feel this gateway
finally ridding itself of
the always lingering fog.






Oh queen!
You tiny, pitiless soul!
void
such a blank void
Through so many years....
you now have EARNED your place
and your title: