Medea Kali

Poor Imitation Of Lord Byron's Fayre Thee Well - Poem by Medea Kali

I hate you and forever, still forever, I loathe you
Should this hate be spilled before you
Where thy supposed love lingered for four years
Should this tarnished worn-out body
Which thine filthy hands so oft hath ravaged
Speak of the atrocities, the calamities which you left behind
It shall say
I hate you and forever, still forever Iloathe you.

Should thine own mother, who approved of your whore
Be visible before me
I would jab her poorly plastic plastered jaw
And spit in her own lying face
That forty year old whore
Prostituting herself for her son
Bringing in men to her bed to get you somewhere in life
Pouring champagne for them
Revealing her aged flesh for ugly moustached-bearing men for you
You son of whore, I hate you

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Comments about Poor Imitation Of Lord Byron's Fayre Thee Well by Medea Kali

  • Aziz Alkaabi (6/22/2009 2:16:00 AM)

    When someone vents in a rage like this, the theme disintegrates and collapses. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, July 29, 2007

Poem Edited: Friday, March 25, 2011

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