Monthly Archives: August 2016

‘The Faked Prophet’ by Andrew Bradford

Here he comes, all shine and polish, glue-glossied hair

Bringing lies and corruption in the guise of being genuine

They grovel at his feet, kiss his ring, beg for more

Dig it, he shouts:

It’s all gotta end, gonna change it all, gonna shake loose the foundations of Earth

Think anyone else can do what I can? Only I deliver your superficial salvation

Crawl closer and bathe in the putrid sweat of my hidden fear, until it infects you

Place your hand next to mine and let us all perish in the same suicidal rap

Repeat after me, acolytes of hateful shameless droning:

We will overcome the self-loathing we carry like an anchor

By directing our fetid vibrations 

In new directions of slavish dementia

Bury us all out by the pits of fire

We await your arrival, our prophet of faked creation born out of our madness

Here we stand, eyes fixed on the sun

As our pupils liquefy

Copyright 2016 by Andrew Bradford. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.