My second attempt at writing poetry based on the work of H.P. Lovecraft. This is more loosely based on his stories, but has a lot of references. Basically, it's about a crazy cultist who summoned the Haunter of the Dark and got sent to a psych ward / asylum. Now they're talking (mostly lying) to a doctor about what they've done and what will happen in the world.

"Yes, Doctor"

Yes, doctor.

It was a vampire bat
That sucked my blood
In that church last night.

Not a ghost or a ghast,
And it certainly wasn't
Something i summoned
From another dimension,
I didn't slit my wrists.

Yes, doctor.
What i just said was gibberish,
Not a magic spell.
It spews out of
my mouth sometimes.

Sticks and stones can break your bones
But words can never hurt you.

Yes, doctor.
I know i've gone insane
You can ask me and poke me
And consult your books,
But you'll never solve my mystery.

Anyway, it doesn't matter
I'm not important anymore.
I've served my purpose,
Done what was needed

Tomorrow there will be a new magician in town.
A write-in candidate
In every election,
Up to the pyramid's top.

Nuclear bombs in the South Pacific
Strange acid shipped from Antarctica
Children will read of a yellow-masked king,
Then rise from their seats,
Divide into columns and lead a procession

The Chaos will reign over all.

I'll sit here, strapped down,
And laugh while the world ends.