I have a potion
to read minds
called sixth sense.

the
cauldron's
strong potion
was manifest
in a dire toxin
simmering to the ***'s rim
this was a stupid portent
doom would be destine to prevail
the elements mixed in error
which ensured a disaster's outcome
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
bad omens were foretold by the recipe
the black sorcerer no smart blender
to late to change the concoction
it boiled over then blew
he'd not been very careful
in how magic works
such a novice
with dark spells
oh so
silly

Tell me your every mistake;
Bring me every heart you break;
Show me your every scar
For each one I’ll give you a star.

Oh, I have seen you ****,
did it just like it was a drill.
Through my veins rushes the thrill
like the feeling after taking a pill.

I allow you to take a bite from
the tasty conscience of mine;
I allow you to eat up my soul
provided you don’t give it back at all.

I will never say I’m sorry,
you know I never worry.
I swore to devotion
without a love potion…

With satchel in his hand, he strode down the road,
The sun glinting against his eyes as it does with glass.
Up he crept to the cave of the monster, its rank abode,
And pulled the elixir from his satchel fast.

Trembling, his hands uncorked the bottle,
And released the liquid a'splashin onto the ground below;
The potion served to mottle,
The rock soon to blow.

He leapt from the cave entrance, down toward the road,
Away from the monster's ghastly abode,
And managed to escape sudden death,
As an explosion blasted from the cave's mouth like fiery breath.

The monster wailed loud as death strangled it,
A strange, bone-chilling, awful fit.
But like the cave, the monster was now dead,
And he could head back to his cabin to sleep in his bed.

Hope*
or
Sign of *Hopelessness?