Bloodbath of the Dark Lady

Black butterfly wings cloak me within deception,
I, just a shadow, that sees all,
And pretends to know not a thing
Of the days to come, while etching a plan in blood
On the skin of my victims from other eras and realities.

They say I have a touch that brings death,
But yet…. It is not entirely true,
My touch doesn’t do all the work
Of fires and bloodshed and pain, I do,
And I quite enjoy it.

I have a loyal pet, who sends out warning,
Its slick feathers shining for all to notice,
As it calls out the sign of my coming
In exchange for fresh meat after the bloodbath and love.
The raven cries like the last stroke of twelve,
A sound of restlessness, fear, and warning.

And then I come, invisible to the eye,
My nails scraping the skin off the living,
My loyal pet stealing their gift of sight from them,
My voice saying the things they dare not speak aloud
And handing them their rope of death,
The air I exhale spreading disease that eats away at whatever is left.

The sun sees me not,
And she shall burn in her own demise
Along with the selfish moon, her orange blood
Raining down as bright flames
And burning her victims where they stand
As my nails claw the stars from the sky.

And the last cry you hear comes from me, in delight,
A cry to shake the bones down to the marrow
As the last sign of light vanishes on the last day,
And I stand, licking the sweet blood and flakes of fried flesh
Off of my long fingers as I smile at the destruction.