His Sickness Grows
Each day, in pursuit of
desolation, while ruining the lives of others,
Oh, the pleasure he gets, killing little children, and
helpless mothers.
The genocide, a step too far, the hate that he has
spread, too much,
Abundant misery, by his hand, so many have suffered,
his evil touch.
The list of despicable crimes, that he has
perpetrated, is overflowing.
A cloud of hatred, hanging over his odious head,
constantly growing.
He is the Devil’s advocate, a scourge upon mankind, in
Satan’s hand,
Protected by his loyal supporters, the homicidal cult,
his brutal band.
Plotting the sadistic acts, executing more, and more,
despicable pain,
Longing, his love to see, the face of terror, on
survivors who remain.
His insatiable appetite, is seeing others suffer,
people full of dread,
At the hands of his vile monsters, all the wicked
Orcs, he has bred.
So content, to be the instrument of hurt, lives turned
upside down,
As the ones they love the most, are sadly laid to
rest, in the ground.
No respect, his heart so numb, sadism running rampant,
in his veins,
There is no compassion, guilt, or remorse, where his
brutality reigns.
He hears voices, in his head, as they call for more,
he has no shame,
Hell bent, his daily fix, the call of death, the
demons he cannot tame.
The road he has chosen, will end in certain death, he
cannot retire,
He has made too many enemies, pushed his psychosis, to
the wire.
Still the craving continues, totally addicted, in
hedonistic pleasure,
With sickness, in his stricken mind, bound to his
psychopathic tether.
So detached, from reality, far removed, like a
spectator looking down,
No longer worthy, of the vacant throne, he will never
wear the crown.
His voices in another dimension, his delusions in an
alternate domain,
The lies that he lives, his demented gratification,
that fuels all the pain
Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)
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