[lonnarin]

Doom

Mighty doom, how I court thy fair countenance
to pass from my lips and rain chaos as the world rips
Feast of thy body, drink of thy blood
Doom sandwiches with lettuce, tomato, barley bread floating in the mud
And ere was the mustard, black enough for mine sustanance?
With fetid tater fries, oh succulent world as it dies.
Might I feast on mine doom, well past the expiration date?
As it sticks and it slivers from mine fork on the dinner plate.
The blade saws portions from the body as it writhes,
whence savage hunger picks thee apart in tithes.
Gluttony dripping dark lamentation from mine maw,
still I feel it wriggling as it dies upon my jaw.
Oh Fie! Oh madness! What is wrong with mine head?
Tis not doom, but leeches I dine upon instead!