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Found Poetry: Tormentor

Mad indeed, my senses dream.
Today my soul, plainly tortured,
my phantasm excitable with causes and effects.

So conspicuous this peculiar pleasure
entirely black at heart
not superstition as witches remembered.

Alone through the streets
day by day
others suffered my personal violence.

One night haunts my presence:
In fright at the fury of a Daemon possessed
no longer my soul
a more fiendish, damnable atrocity.

I experienced horror (at best)
plunged into a frightful appearance.
This spirit – my soul – lives!
this spirit of perverseness
my final unfathomable nature.

Most terrible the destruction
between the disaster and the atrocity.
Strange and graven was my terror, extreme.
My cruelty the substance of my conscience.

More than infamy,
the very creature itself
rose in the bitterness of hatred —
MY hatred – my simplest and purest pleasures.

Let me confess of physical evil;
I should be almost ashamed
that the terror and horror inspired me.

The strange beast struggled –
loathed and dreaded –
a ghastly thing of agony and death.

High God of insufferable wo,
knew I the blessing of unutterable fear,
the hot breath upon my heart!

The pressure of torments
became the darkest thoughts;
my wrath, the childish dread
more than daemoniacal.
I was not deceived
for I had put it to its fate.

Still my tormentor came.

The monster of my dark deed
looked upon my future.
My heart beat in rabid desire with God
and the throats of the damned
who exult in terror and awe.

(ref: The Black Cat by Edgar Allen Poe)

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