Abaddon’s blessings on me, almost straight away
Sickly and dangerous the work of a mage
The outcome’s never the same, scattershot spray
Use-stressed pews yew hewn fed His blaze, chanting His name
An odalisque on a table gyrating
Rotating before a whore-stained obelisk
A pile of cocaine for training to dependence
What semblance of prodigies he sends us
Things of His making in their proper place
Awaiting a foretold toppling.
Alchemisland 
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