He died here
And his soul
Says, with the
Sky,
"Look away
Child, avert
Your eyes,
From these
Continuous
Atrocities
You are
Powerless to
Change.

Look to the
Colors ive
Painted high
Those who
Could, will
Never help"
We admire
The sunset
And search
The astral
Instead.

There is a curse in every name.
Shoot me in the back of the head and I’ll be dead,
But my name shall carry on
In the depth of my killer
If he was a friend
Or in the wallet that he stole from the corpse
Now lying dead on the floor.

"But the curse", I explained
"Is neither in the ****** nor in the theft,
Nor is it retribution for a life shamelessly taken.
It’s in the neatly shaped boxes
In which the mind must be bent
To fit the guilty and the innocent alike
And each and all of their names."

That is the real ******;
And that is retribution.

Repulsive is vile that trickles down the liar's forked tongue,
in this terrible time of perplexing desperation,
I struggle to be humble.
I am engulfed inside this devastation,
wicked are those who hurt the innocent one.
I am tormented by the voices that mock each tear,
the turmoil they unleashed overshadows the sun.
I sit and stare at a loaded gun⁠—be warned evil enemies,
no matter the time, or the day we all shall be judged.
Thy kingdom come, but I will not fall,
thy kingdom falls, but I will not succumb
to the assault brought forth by the deceitful opposition.
But time is breaking my will, my momentum, and my motivation.
We all shall be judged, but those with forked tongues
shall cower under the wake of my glorious retribution.

You searched the world for a lullaby
and found it in their screams and cry.
Your greatest art was death itself
and your melody was their beg for help.

But let's go back to your story's start,
when you still didn't have a monster's heart.
Let us go back to your innocence,
when your world was confined behind your backyard fence.

You once had been a young good boy
but with a family like those broken toys.
Your parents' fights were your fairytales
and your bedtime story was your mother's wails.

You'll go to school with hidden cuts--
black-blue bruises from your father's bat.
And though they tried to be friends with you,
their happiness was your source of blue.

Until one day, you found a cure;
her name's Emily, a bliss so pure.
Her smile, your happiness; her eyes, your stars;
her hugs, your haven; her tears your scars.

You learned to find the sweet from the bitter,
hoped that maybe there's a happy ever after.
You've buried your heart in darkness' grave,
not knowing that soon enough, you will be saved.

Yet fate won't let you get away;
peace and joy will never stay.
Your precious one, they took and ****--
Emily's dead, lying cold and still.

The pain you've buried for many years,
the darkest past, your endless tears
the rage you've buried brave
came crawling back out of its grave.

"Evil is good, retribution is fair!"
Goodness became something you don't want to care
Justice you'll bring with bloods on your hands
Farewell to the angels, by the devil you stand.

Torture
(ˈtôrCHər)

Torture, the infliction of severe physical or mental pain
or suffering for a purpose, such as
coercing a confession, or inflicting punishment.

Torture
(ˈtôrCHər)

Making me pay everyday,
By loving someone else that treats you well
For hurting you and breaking you
The way I did