The Rapture

The Thing was born to a house adorned
With flaking walls and creaking doors
To a family once perfect and seemingly normal
Who soon became a corpse and The Monster

The Thing wasn’t always named that way
But along with time did his name decay
His presence if known was a privilege
Which he got, when The Monster filled with rage

The Monster started inflicting pain
Feeding her child’s blood to bundled canes
She kept him locked in heavy chains
The Thing laid shackled, shine or rain

He sat up, trapped in the grungy cellar
With the body of his putrid father
As he decomposed into skeletal waste
The air became of bitter taste

The Thing sometimes came out to play
But play day was no easy day
He had to lie and count to fifty
While The Monster’s knife scarred him aplenty

Brewing anger made him stronger
Darkness turned his blue eyes redder
Stale air made his fair skin shrivel
His hair began to fall and wither

His daily meals of rotten leftovers
Saw him become a shrunken cadaver
Seeing himself would elicit terror
If only he had owned a piece of mirror

His craze became his tool to escape
Tearing and scratching and scrapping till late
His torn fingers set him free at last
The remaining locks put his teeth to task

This was to be his final battle
To the bottom his heart had sunk and settled
The calm before the storm will shatter
Soon as he had satisfied desire

He heard her footsteps hastening
And felt his hunger quickening
And soon, the Monster came about
The light blinded him as The Thing reached out

Bulging eyes wide with bloodied teeth
Ready for his vengeful feast
His will was strong as were her sins
His grown-out nails dug in her skin

She felt his bones as he knelt on her
As The Thing finally felt her fear
He plunged his teeth into her shin
Then devoured the Monster who mothered him

These words he said in her last moments
Before her body bled into oblivion

A life obscured, buried and ignored.
I’ll kill you then me, and leave us to rot.
Release it, release me, and remember my name.
For if I remain, I won’t be the same.

Come morning he woke from perilous dreams
The streets were empty, the corners dim
The rapture came without haunting screams
The beast hums soft with its morning hymns

The world had gone and left him it seems
Laden with defeat that plagued him with grim
Toward the darkness, he gravely limped
And prayed he has simply missed the sunlight stream

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