The sun goes down
And the wind gently flaunts.
I was hiding behind a mysterious mirror,
where I looked at myself as a stranger

Much inquires like questions in my body,
Should I run out of this world,
And reconcile the past?
To stab the knife in a soul of misspent youth
where blood goes blue, that’s what I hoped for
A freezing corpse without a breath
weeping like an unborn child

The mirror I hid behind,
Revealed the truth I have to say.
My soul does not belong to me,
But God is the owner of all

If you were afraid of the day of judgment
I would **** you without concern
God would not punish me,
The killer was the mirage inside mirror

In the middle of blurry senses
within indefinite tenses,
You can find me
thriving beneath your glow.
Sometimes
your shine will blind me.
In return,
sincerely holding your hand
and following your vivacious voice
that I am aching for,
I will take you to places
you haven't ever been
even once before.
As a sightless poet,
flying through all hinders
I will lead you to heaven,
a journey of senses,
lands of eternity in endless art,
I will cover you with my heart
from any dangers to protect
and I will make you the perfect,
the precious woman
of nihilistic poetry!
Becoming aware
of the magnificent healer
In suspense and in a stew
all poets will ask:
Who is that persona - the nihilist-killer?!

My wrist was red
And my neck was blue
You were my favorite killer
And i would die for you
Now the wrists have healed
As new scars grew
And the time never heals
What i've been through.

A true lady of mid-twentieth century perfection,
Everything about her is prim and proper:
Her soft skirt, baby blue and fresh from tea,
Her pristine blouse, white lace and tickling the neck,
Hands folded in her lap and angled to heaven.
No one would know.
She isn’t fresh from tea with Mother and Grandmother
She’s fresh from playing fast and loose
With three dead men.
She is perfection for a young lady
And ideal for a murderer
Because you’d never know what lies beneath what you see.

The title reads "Petite Redhead"
Pity it is content
With filth

A record recycling junk
Strums together a jingle
Echoing its own hollow verse

Triggers and pins
Always seem to accompany
The gun

The grip is soft
Side rail cold and beautiful
Like an old bottle of ***

My mind is sporadic
Seeking any conclusion
Requiring nonsense to fill the gap

Deceitful fingers
Lingering
Ready for digging

Her body still warm
Acting as a proxy pillow
The compromise of comfort

White to red
Crimson stains not withheld
A result of the rolling tide

Wrath of blood
Brought to fruition
And supplementation

To feel nothing
Is blissful and pure
Welcoming to heaven

The taker of life
Listening to a Redhead
No realistic sounds beneath

I am a beautiful creature in the picture
a master of my own disguise
If you'll see who I really am, you'll be running to mountain Heiss
A **** princess in the light
But prowling every night for a prey lurking in the dark.
You are the one in my sight
You should run for your life.
I am turning to a monster
Right before your eyes
A merciless killer, this is what I've become.
My fangs and claws are hidden
I'll come to you when you least expected
And I strike.
This is what I've become since the rainy night.
I am a MONSTER.