A darkest hour, a darkest time
For him and for many, the day was sublime
For his knife was ready, curved to a point
The cultist was screaming, brother anoint
The oil was dripping, mixed with his gore
His form was sprawled, all over the floor
The circle was drawn, the time is now
Our god will be waiting, they’ll hear us somehow
We slice his throat, and we say the watchwords
We chant for an hour, then **** all the birds
The light is telling, our god has awoken
He is coming down, to the words we have spoken
And when he arrives, death to the foundation
If his presence is felt, enter damnation

The playground is getting dark
It's almost time to go
But finally I smile and lean my head back
And then I go and swing some more

I dangle from my neck
Swinging to and fro
Isn't this playground lovely?
I laugh and swing myself some more

I tighten the rope a little
There's still a short while to go
But better safe than happy
So off the shaky seat I go
Swinging to and fro

I hang from my rope
There's nothing left at all
There's a smile on my face
As you watch me
Swinging to and fro

Floating bloated.
Life aborted.
Rotting sockets.
A bobbing lifeless buoy.
where the river meets
the sewage.

The gleaming pair of crimson red eyes reflect nothing but suffering.
While it's true that those sulfur feathers take flight,
tear holes in the wind, and pierce the night sky,
it's only to get your attention.

Does he have your attention?
He knows he has your attention.
From branch to branch he stares, learns, stalks,
and casts doubt into your impressionable acumen.

You know nothing, and nothing is his forte.
You haven't caught up, but those infinite pools of blood are headed your way.
Don't be afraid, don't scurry, don't cry;
By the end of the night, you'll have seen all,
and you'll be just another in the crimson tide.

In the hour of Twilight, let us burn,
Let us burn with passion
As our blood boils and our hearts turn,
As we melt in one-another, morbidly…
                                     …in a romantic fashion.

Flesh pressed against flesh, I do remember;
The secret lips of a demon so tender,
And our bodies on top of a mound,
Twi lively corpses besottingly…
                                   …carving a new wound.

And let them be irradiated by our macabre ardour.

In my last moments

I wonder what I will say,

"All set!" or "not yet..."

Everyday people say
things like this:
You know Marie, Every child is a blessing---
but It's such
a cliche thing to say.

There were 3 pregnancies...
Mine included
Only 1 prevailed

I sipped my liquor;
She ate her dinner.

Although diluted...
...so I disputed.

This is what 'they' really wanted.
Meanwhile, I already birthed 3 kids.

A happily Married couple vs.
A woman who was simply supple!

I still Wonder why
This pregnancy survived.................