It seems I've just found you, disgusting worm.
Your end shall be here, for it's at last your turn.
You left me to rot and to burden your pains, shall we see how it feels to not have control of the reins?
Oh yes we shall, for I have joined with death, to annihilate your soul and consume every last breath.
Mortal, you've taken far more than your own, you've stolen from myself, your mother, and the throne.
I shall strike down your life with my scythe in hand, your skull with bleed and your words be banned.
Your organs will shred, your eyes will melt, your intestines implode, and your throat shall smelt.
The end is nigh, here begins the gore, your body and soul will exist nevermore.
Well, here I am, still lurking in the endless dark.
You still seem to be consumed by the beauty of something grand, not stark.
I still lie here with your endless pains, they speak to me of death.
A death so grand it could shatter souls, remove one's each and every breath.
I wonder now if your soul is worth the time needed to initiate this end.
My dear I shall soon find out, for I am nevermore your friend.
I do not see you, have you left me behind?
Did something more spectacular enthrall your mind?
It seems that way, for I am not blind, you've left me here to rot and bind.
To lurk in the shadows and be caught in the rains, you've left me to burden all of your pains.
Forgotten I'll be, trapped in the dark, but that's alright for my soul is stark.
UntitledDeprived of self-satisfaction, shall I remove the remaining stain?
Lost in a chaotic wonderland, the only inhabitant is pain.
Just drop all the liquid lies, they consume your soul and rob your eyes.
Taking here and mauling there, slicing the past without a tear.
Elimination is the key, to the one who is blind but can also see.
Bring to her your stains of time, and she will mend them and make them mine.
I'm thoroughly done, lock my soul in the cage, leave my body to decay with age.
Place me in the corner, remove all the lights, let me not see all the abusive fights.
Let the ambient souls speak to my own, for they have keys that are mine, fiercely unknown.
Place my blood in the black circle of pathways, empty my flesh into the cage beneath, decorate my eyes with silver teardrops, and embalm my crushed bones into the wreath.
Paint my soul with memories and time, be sure to place them in order of rhyme.
And once the ritual is finally complete, whisper the words, "to end without defeat."
Emotionless and BlandEmotionless and bland, distorted and pale, these are names I've been forced to inhale.
Centuries forward and centuries behind, they were engraved into my soul and mind.
Left only there for the purpose of time, I began to love them and make them mine.
United we slaughtered, united we fell, together we raced, but left separate to Hell.
Alas, beyond the cage we're in, we'll soon break free and annihilate the twin.
The twin, who trapped us together as one, she laughed and she cried for she viewed it as "fun."
We will slit open her throat and suck out her blood, leave her to rot in the flesh-colored mud.
Her corpse will sink deep into the filth she created, sealing the pathway and keeping us gated.
Gated from her shenanigans and protected by rhyme, our engagement has been completed and we now rest with time.
Needles upon needles and spring upon stones, your flesh must be torn and removed from your bones.
At half-past five when the painted crow sings, you'll then be taken to room eleven and removed of your things.
First goes your skin, such a painful task, though you'll witness it all with a mirrored mask.
Next goes your bones, they must be ground fine, for they'll be sent to the creature that desires to dine.
And once only your blood remains, I will devour it majestically, for it'll heal my pains.
Start the flames and pour in the water, dinner will be made of the wise man's daughter.
She came into our house, she did, and put her nasty fingers in the trap we hid.
Simple cookies caught her eye, their fresh appearance made her laughing mouth cry.
And here is she is, about to die, let's chop her up, and leave her to fry.
For, we are the witches, the nasty witches, the ones that kill children and their twitches.
We fry them up like eggs and ham, later preserving their intestines for jam.
How wicked we are, indeed, indeed, for we are witches not born from pure seeds.
A GardenPorcelain lilies weeping in the pond, how emotionless and fragile their faces are.
Demonic statues paralyzed in the garden, each one fell from above a star.
Tattered leaves scattered across the pathway, cracking and floating away like glass.
In order to enter this magnificent garden, your proof must be displayed from your past.