An Internship At Hell (ft. Veera)

hey guys… for this poem the title came first (cuz it seemed cool) and then the poem😂😂

weelll the poem wouldn’t have been written if not for Veera from The Forgers Of Fantasy!! Thanks for doing this collab with me.. this has been amazinggg!💖✌️
Check out his genius poems!🤩🤩

This is a like a really long and gruesome poem.. hope you have the stamina to read it.. i think there should be an age limit or something here.. but u guys are gonna read it anyways

Sir Adolf Hitler,
A man, or rather, two,
Half his soul is prejudice,
And the other a horcrux,
The Devil and The Fool,
One looking for thoughtless thickheads,
The other for psychopaths cruel.
They recruit people,
Best, no, the worst of the worst,
To carry on, the jobs of evil…

Thousands gather every year,
All the cunning and the brave,
By the gates of hell,
Under the Fuhrer’s grave.

Then they are chosen,
At the Eve of Hitler’s fall,
When His ghastly ghost shall rise,
To hunt baddies big and small.

The select few shall be ferried
Through the Sea of Great Gloom;
Portkeys shall guide them good,
Into the Great Hall of Doom,
Where they will best each other,
And one shall emerge an intern.

Presented before Satan,
A white joker, a noseless wizard,
And a tailor who sews to kill,
Who will be chosen the next evil?

The one who cruises crazy town,
The one who shall not be named,
Or the wicked mortal of unspeakable deeds,
Someone who brings the Fuhrer down,
Will be the next servant of havoc and hell.

And so they set off,
On the Devil’s demented path,
Knowing that failure would invite,
The Devil’s unimaginable wrath.

Upon entering Crazy Town,
A couple hours later,
They are asked to punish,
A betrayer of the God under.

The clown lights up some gasoline,
And collects 80 points,
A crucio cast by the wizard,
Wins him 80 as well,
Meanwhile, the tailor wrings
The traitor’s guts,
Points received- 9 tens!

As ended the first test,
All emerged victors;
Yet their joy was short lived,
As they advanced further,

Souls, jewels, books, and gold,
A treasury of stolen treasure,
Steal one that would give,
Our Lord, Satan pleasure.

“Steal Scylla’s corrupted soul,
And you shall be bestowed-
With power,but first survive
The Valley of Shadows.”

On a blood colored glider,
Sped ahead the joker,
But his gizmos and cunning,
Matched not Scylla’s might.

‘Twas the tailor’s turn now,
He fished out a knife,
As Scylla drew her sword,
Stained crimson with blood rife.

Oldy-voldy went beyond to fight his fight,
His spells rebound, his wand cracked,
So instead of losing Scylla’s soul,
He proceeded to capture an Angel’s spirit,
Cause what fun is it to make evil eviler,
When they could feast on the good and godly?

Scylla lay on the road,
Clutching her bleeding weal.
The tailor advanced with knife,
His true face revealed.

A mass of cuts and wounds,
Devoid of nose and ears;
Whose mouth,a long gash,
A face lit by sadistic desire.

The joker was pushed overboard,
Into the pitch black sea of gloom,
For the failure that he was.

Voldemort’s answer clever,
Earned him a favor from Satan,
But to be clear, he was not the winner,
Even hell has technicalities.

Mr.Hannibal’s face washed,
Purple by blood,
A savage beast behind his pupil,
Was initiated in the Great Hall of Doom,
As The Intern of hell.

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