Ode to LQ
By Bold Font

If a name held truth,
the word of the soul,
she would be the most undecided creature of all.
A skunk, by any other name,
is still a skunk,
and skunks, no matter what they're called,
still smell 'fowl'.

Lament to the hero of pixels,
who's eyes hold endlessly repeated depths
of azure, or was it cerulean?
It doesn't matter anyway...
They are merely mirrors
for the Marie Suzette to see her
perfect face.

Have you spoke your mind today,
oh villianous lunitic persiflaga?
Have you prodded the fangirls until they bark?
Those Pavlovian dogs,
salivating at the chime of a bell.

Does this end come willingly, or is it
forced by the cries of the victimized assailant,
the living abuse of the oxyclean label?
Do as I say, not as I do,
for I am rolling heads tonight!

The outraged screams of the matriarch echo
through her empty halls,
devoid of the life which caused such paranoia.
Was it you who stood in the back,
smirking while her subjects were exiled?
Or were you merely laughing at the door?

I swing from the chandelier.
A precarious perch
for such a mole.

Used to the darkness of taste,
rather than the sour lemon of the
artistically deaf.
It's easy to get up there, however
---I have only to 'unfertile' my wings.

So listen hard,
oh hunters of the badfic.
Hear their rants of outrage,
their overused metaphors...
They may wait for the day we fall,
but those are the words of those
who have already lost.

Viva la revolution!!