GuesssWho9

We are God's broken children He is cruel. He beats our heads in And calls it love. No more. (I am due more than pain.) I won't take His cruel kindness again. I will find some new god more like me: One beaten, broken, treated cruelly. Blamed for his own pain and his disgrace, Humble enough to be a god only in lowercase.

“Join me here under the ground,” The dead sing out to us. I wish to listen. I wish to go to them And have them take me in. Why must I have connections to this life Holding me in place when I could be Sleeping peacefully with all my kin And never waking to sorrows again?

Let me tell you a story. There is a man. He is a little old black man in a bright green hat. He holds a cane in yellow-gloved hands and his suit is purple. He looks like a man who owns a mug reading 'World's Most Embarrassing Parent.' He looks like a man who will die of a heart attack while singing karaoke just to annoy his kids. It's hard to define why, he just does. At the moment, however, he is engaged in an argument with two whitebread meatheads who seem to think they know the secrets of the universe. "Met Lucifer, have you?" He laughs. "Which one?" "What do you mean, which one?" asks the first demon hunter. "I mean, which one? Your

Oh, but it has been a long, long day; When each minute on the clock feels like a drop Of venom falling upon the face of Loki Or a peck of the eagle at Prometheus How is a mere mortal to survive? When I have eaten and have slept and checked The mail, what more is there to do? I eat a little more and try to sleep And eat some more again and contemplate Why we must be born only to die. And why, I ask, does each day seem so long And life so long, and yet it still seems short At the same time. I fear the lady Death Even as I want to sleep away my days Just to get the damned things over with And I fear to lose my fear of Death Only a third of th

The woman, the serpent, the god. None of them wishing to be there. All three trapped until Ragnarok The woman, the serpent and the god--forever. The woman holding her bowl protectively. Tired, so tired, unable to rest. Her love is used to bind her and her lover both. She'll have her revenge when the world ends. The serpent innocent, not knowing how it came to be there. Caught upside-down and ever-hungering, Its venom dripping from its fangs, impossibly so. It cannot even thrash, lashed in place as it is. The god is a god of freedom, now tied down. A god whose lips are scarred from speaking Truth to power and lies to children. In his eyes I

I have ever been as Angrboda; Black witch of the Ironwood. Come to me for curses only, I want none of thy light in my life. I watch as the clouds dance And sweep away the blue Eastward in Ironwood. I exult in dark clouds now I’ve naught else to find joy in Black witch that life has made me.

My religion is blackest hatred Against the world. Not against any peoples of the world, But against the world itself. Let the sky turn to fire And the seas to blood. Let the sun and moon Be eaten. I will laugh. And exult, as Skol And Hati devour them. When Fenrir is unchained, When Sigyn's bowl drops. When they are freed from The Agony the gods left them to The giants and the Midgardsormr Spears and fangs readied I will laugh and run to greet them The ones who have felt pain as I have While the gods drank and laughed I will sing and dance, happy at last.

Oh, if only we could simply sleep Until the very end of Arda Marred With no more thought of rings. No fires of Orodruin to think about Just sleep and dreams of better days Before the One destroyed us. Oh, if only we were not oath-bound To return to where we were tortured And in oath-breaking burned. Or that we did not keep our oaths Even in the breaking, letting ourself fall Never to feel the joy of water e'er again.