Untitled by Lucifer T. M. M.

Thimble, Thread, Twine, Needle.
Descend upon the embellishing inferno.
Become not what you envy to be, but the loathing of self-tainted putrid.
And I am the flame that will devour your afflicted carcass,
after the malevolent God you preach and bow becomes the immaculate Devil in your essence.
There will be death.
There will be carnage.
And murder, deceit.
I demand the agony of delivery.
As I gleam.. and beam.. and glare upon the sickening spectacle of your acridly enkindling corpse
I will envision a clear and saintly cosmos
Among which the reputable will writhe,
and the corrupt will flourish.
You will be my birthly conception of this endeavor.
You will be my myriad of attempts at new life.
To ignite and enthrall in and around my euphoric combustible cadaver.
We are the dead, the broken, the wrong.
The thimble of your cowardly infectious soul.
The thread of your striving vain ambitions.
The twine of your completion will only ever burn.
The needle of which you alter your last mortal shallow heartbeat.
Today, I live.
Today, you died.