Shakespearian Hatred

You are an unneeded letter, relegated to the forgotten ends of the alphabet.
You’re unchaste nature made a meal of you and it shows through in the sallow skin of your face.
You speak vilely spitting your vitriol like so much bilious mess
And lo, your capricious hatred bursts forth in at any moment; showing it knows no bounds.

To those quieted and civil in nature your character, both rude and abrupt, disrupts them deeply; but you care not for their peace.
Nor do you care for the quiet, diligent and gentle way they go about tending to the pastures of their lives.
You dance through the fields trampling their hard work into dust and feeling you have made an impact and then;
When all is done you trounce your way out through the undergrowth.
Stomping like so much of a child and leaving footprints in your wake.
Truly it is that you have never grown.
Truly it is that you, unneeded, unchaste, bilious, capricious beast;
Are all spleen, and nothing of a man.

Contemplate this...

I had contrived this idea that I needed no one in a romantic sense. I thought my loneliness was simply that, being that I was alone. I thought adding this man into my house and as a constant figure in my life would help remedy that. But as nice as he is, as wonderful as the pleasure of his company can be, it makes me stress harder, and the truth is I am still alone.
I still sleep at night by myself wishing I wasn't, and still think back to the days and nights when I would lay by Steve, where I was, filled with bliss. Bliss because I was in love, so thoroughly, so completely, I never allowed myself to contemplate it's end because it seemed to painful to even consider, but now?
Now I live it and I was right, too painful to even think about.

The Worship of a King of Hell

You appeared as one but two€
Angels on a chariot of fire;
And you spread your lies and deceit
As far into me as as my awe made possible.

Your adulterous ways were hidden
Behind a veil of beauty
But such evil and wretchedness
Cannot hide forever.

You are a King of my Hell.
You are a destroyer of the soul.
He, who does so present himself as an angel
In a deceit, to steal from me my very essence;
As if in some kind of joke!

Once touched by you, once marked;
No amount of repentance;
No amount of remorse,
No worship at the alter of the self could remove it.

For I have knelt before thine evil,
And my lips are stained with the kiss of you.

Belial