Cult dabbles into the realm of the greats. Check out a new devious bit of poetry.
As the milk turneth sour,
So slowly he's devoured.
Lonely carcass sprawled prone
comical position on the floor.
Twas a bug you see
All shiny, prancing with glee
Crossed his path
A few morns ago.
Aghast at the sight,
body shivering in fright.
His foot stomped the
innocent thing into floor.
So slowly he's devoured.
Lonely carcass sprawled prone
comical position on the floor.
Twas a bug you see
All shiny, prancing with glee
Crossed his path
A few morns ago.
Aghast at the sight,
body shivering in fright.
His foot stomped the
innocent thing into floor.
A few days passed
and from a bug not a glance.
But then suddenly
there crawled six,
twelve...
A horde.
Shimmering in movement
The floor dared his foot crush them all.
Alas not to be
He squirmed and shook
as they covered him whole.
Struggling was he
Squirming,
unable to flee.
Until he drowned in the sea,
overwhelmed by consuming vengeance
ravenous nature and unfathomably more
and from a bug not a glance.
But then suddenly
there crawled six,
twelve...
A horde.
Shimmering in movement
The floor dared his foot crush them all.
Alas not to be
He squirmed and shook
as they covered him whole.
Struggling was he
Squirming,
unable to flee.
Until he drowned in the sea,
overwhelmed by consuming vengeance
ravenous nature and unfathomably more
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