To Summon the Demon

Oh, it's simple.

The incantation to bring the creature,

immune to prayer, crucifix, or preacher,

...or fire.

That spirit of desire encased in flesh:

fat, juicy, hungry for more.

Is that what you're looking for?

Or after years of beatings,

years of being shamed,

shaped by you, you found that

the thing could not be tamed?

And you named it Anathema,

all because you couldn't handle,

kicked it out with bell, book, and candle,

but it's such a pity that it should snap at you

how cruel that thing should be to bite,

at the hand that feeds the dog's spite.

And you with careless words,

haphazard bigotry, casual hate,

for the next eight hours straight,

find yourself in the shadow,

as it watches you sleep,

your bedside to keep.

And if perchance you should not wake,

this animal comes, your soul to take.

In all things I wish you this one certainty:

know this, cretin, in all you do,

when you spend hatred like currency,

I see you.
I see you.

-o0o-