A sad poem written by Michaela Danielle in 2010-ish
Here she stands in a slow demise,
With taste of heaven and a stomach of lies;
The ardent drive to live to die;
A massive dept in one pair of eyes.
Hark! The demon of the game:
With cherub smile and dis'llusioned frame.
Inflamed and large in flaking skin
Punishing their living sin;
For ev'ry pound the prisoner bans
Is added to that monster, see,
Circles 'round the angel chained,
Crawl the demons of the game.
American word of great reproof-
Deemed by anything but truth;
"Plan of evil"; "means of youth";
"Chain the impostor- strike and bruise!"
'Tis not of mortal man's creation,
Nor able is he of its separation.
Cycles run while bodies fall;
People gasp, or mock it all;
Others "help" with love/hate forces
And fake the bodies' true endorses.
Better off if left to die
If any saw that demon's eye.
Here in my own words confess:
Nothing secret to this mess.
Left to one's self is all our plan-
But ne'er alone while under heav'n.
Conclusion of this game's last hour:
I'll mention ONE of greater power…
Jesus Christ my LORD