Antichrist: An Original Non-lyrical Poem.
By: Zach Brehany
The name I am given.
The devil you know.
The essence of terror.
What people view me as.
I am not satanic.
I wear all black.
I am kind.
I am gentle.
And yet I am treated as a diseased bug.
I never understood it.
Why should I?
What is the point?
I am an outcast.
A loaner.
A nobody.
As long as I am,
I am the south's demon.
No one respects me.
No one cares.
If I was gone,
who would care?
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