WeWe walk between empty mirrors, gracing those who have foreseen our lives.
We slither alongside shadows, banishing newborns from their knives.
Forsaken, our prey shriek, their joyful souls are forevermore meek.
Though, within them lies fear, a fear that we wish to seek.
Their speechless eyes wander aimlessly through our coats of despair and doom, seeing all with blind transparency except a cloud of gloom.
Our knowledge exceeds their beings, their fear is given without a fee.
Thus, always and forever shall we strike them down with glee.
MyselfThe jar of tears has fallen to pieces, lost are the memories from within the creases.
They've all abandoned me, my silent friends, our bonds have withered beyond their ends.
So predictable this scene truly was, the girl who fell from not a single cause.
Twas my own fault, for I banished all help, rotted to pieces within myself.
Though alas a mark has been etched within stones, "My soul lives forever without my bones."
Silent PainsCrossed into the streams of negligence, framed in the scandal of insanity.
Blessed by the ethereal banished ones, betrayed by hymns of profanity.
Shattered mirrors crashed down upon the skin of youth, extracted from their weary bodies the specific Vein of Truth.
Such bleeding wires enlaced their eyes, their flesh so pink and blue.
Countless dull measures of false accuracy bound to their every screw.
Never spoken, never raised, never seen, never praised.
Always silent, always dead, forevermore they rest on a thread.
The BoyInto the flames dove the boy, his divine ideas were seared by joy.
Such hatred thrust against his brain, such blindness and foolishness from his parent's pain.
Slain and slaughtered his friends had passed, the flower, the pencil, and the book named Asked.
Forever sealed within his cage, the boy had not a soul to confess his page.
The page of torment that was buried inside, nevermore did he have a place to hide.
ThemBefallen was her mother, burned within a cancerous lake, her skin torn from her body, her head shoved on a stake.
Annihilated was her father, driven mad by a knife, suffocated wearily without a single tear of strife.
Enticed was her hypnosis, stricken with a pact, one of pure immortality without a single crack.
Lost was her soul, in a brewing cauldron of pain, nevermore to witness the beauty of her reign.
The DollOn a calm June day, with the morning in sight, a soul was born to cast out the light.
This soul was a doll, one born of a gift, with fair skin and eyes that would secretly drift.
Such silken hair draped upon her head, its texture would guide the path of the dead.
Soulless beings at her every command, the doll sent them forth to claim the human's land.
So many she stained, so many she slaughtered, alas they're now plants that must always be watered.
The Maiden of MorbidityAshen hair woven by shadows, pure white skin born from blood, the maiden of morbidity has at last awakened from the Hellish pits of forgotten mud.
Her grace shall dance along with the wind, stealing the breaths from those who have sinned.
Binding their intestines within their throats, leaving them to drown within the moats.
Such chaos shall reign upon the fools, stripping them of intelligence and "honest rules."
And once her job is at last complete, she shall dine upon fresh human meat.
To Beseech the Fallen StainTo Beseech the Fallen
Once upon a hundred years, the banished gather to recite the tears.
Such hymns of agony and foolish reign, their voices beseech the fallen stain.
Lament is thrust against its face, the stain pleads not to suffer the brace.
All those who perished for its desired needs, rise forth and against to annihilate the seeds.
One by one the seeds implode, their souls are frail, they cannot take the road.
And here at last the stain slips away, never seeing again the night of day.
YouThe pours of your mind, diseased and left oozing; droplets of configurations spun in a line.
What was forgotten in the space between your knowledge, there's not a damn thing left except for time.
Years and years of unsolved reservations, crooked and creaking like your bloodshot eyes.
Examining the past with a magnifying glass, I doubt you'll realize anything for your life is mine.
I stole your soul with a simplistic vine, one brought from the restless pastes of time.
When your steel-blue eyes locked my mind in the corner, I patiently waited, for your soul would be mine.
You kindly pranced over and asked a little favor, I simply stabbed your neck and took your time.
And there you are, dead in the wasteland, blood on your jacket; say good morning to grime.