Lapsed (not suitable for the squeamish)



The time has come, I know it now,
To shut the final door,
I leave this note to tell you how
And why I’ll live no more,

I shot the albatross you see,
And hanged it round my neck,
I called disaster down on me,
A cursed and anguished keck,

Inside me grows a weeping sore,
Threatening to burst,
And I must lance it now, before
I succumb to this thirst,

I feel the poison cold and keen,
Waiting in my vein,
Eager to perform its job
Of ridding me of pain,

The cinch released, my blood does flow
And so I must be quick,
To tell you what you need to know,
What caused in me this sick,

For years and years I would not eat
The flesh of fowl or beast,
As I eschewed the taste of meat,
Until my dreadful feast,

No woman born before or since,
Was beautiful like she,
Sweeter than a jellied quince,
She fell in love with me,

And I with her, how could I not?
The times we spent were grand,
I knew not that she’d scheme and plot
To get the upper hand,

And then one day it came to pass,
I found me she’d betrayed,
And when confronted, bold as brass
She listed who’d she’d laid,

My anger rose, the red mist fell,
And out at her I struck,
Her skull rang hollow like a bell,
Walls splashed with brain and muck,

She fell down to the floor quite dead,
But still her heart did beat,
And then I did my work most red,
To gain that bloody meat,

Her skin and ribs I tore apart,
But still her heart convulsed,
And then I ate her still warm heart,
To cease that hateful pulse,

I sit here wracked with guilt and pain,
But know that Death is near,
I’ll sully not this world again,
My absolution’s here,


Words: Martin G. King ©2014
Image sourced from Google Images


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