Grind against the stain of your hammer
The smile of blood judges your tools
Feel the wrath of an angels stare
As you tootle off home, his blessed wings stretched
In jest as they decompose and crumble. You did your job marvellously military man

...
My Spirit, I dropped
My neck, how tragic!—
Oh, why was I doomed?—
What a shame of love,—
Beset me for living
How poor was my trial?—
That king caught me— Just to be his vice!
Surely, I was a noble queen—
'Til the justice defied me..

Coined by 30 years,— Now deriving for 25 years,
This automatic era seemed haste for me,— Where people work less with limbs,— And more with chained machines
All tenses are verbose,— of such faint vision;— When all the dots meet,—
Perhaps, gallops are faster than wheels.
--...
Whenever I daze in my reflection,
I morbidly feel the bruised mark on my pelvis,— whence Homer penetrated it,— And this slit scar on my nape— of my husband's infidelity
Oh fate, may thou all wrath in flames..

I was not an outlaw!—
Thou all praised a sculpture,—
And smashed it, when it was bore!
Thou bidded swears— To a bedswerver's norms!
My downfall revealed thy disgraced offerings— Traitors!

—My poor, poor queen— Do not weep,
    For I shall be great,— This lady will
    dissect the hypocrites, and clothe
    the faithful—
    I shall be the image of your tragedy
    and glory
    This is the order of my commitment
    I am a ponent;
    I am a defender.

Quote our testament:
"We art the culprits and victims of our own plot. If an admiring rogue invades thy core, it shall weakened thou as culprit into an ever victim— To be held in judgment, and to be both perceived as no innocent."

—The conviction of worldly accomplices,
    This shall be the vengeance of an obsolete sentence.—

Altaira, with me,—
Thou art neither a corpse—
Nor a bit of ash;
'Tis the time for ruling
Your Majesty—
Cheers to the jury..

“Will you destroy something beautiful, just to make it perfect?
Just the way you did with your big, innocent, naïve heart, trying to fit in into this large world with small hearts?”
“Hey moonsick lover!
Do you dare to love a human (again)?
Or do you also think that love is a disease sent by devil, Satan himself from the depths of the burning hell?”
“ Will you be able to un-love someone who broke you into a million pieces?”
“Are you still lovesick? Has anyone had the courage to embrace your open wounds, kiss your scars and mend your shattered, yet caring heart, with his own?”
“Do you still hope that someday, someone will make you whole, again?”
“What if a person comes as your salvation one day, and brings a real smile on your face accustomed for fake smiles?”
“What if that person makes you feel complete again?”
“Now, what if that person, the one who enabled you to heal, is stolen by the world?”

“What happens then?”

“I’ll tell you what happens then. You will gather all your pieces, go down to the burning fires of hell, take help from the devil, come back roaring back in agony, and
WREAK HAVOC ON THIS WORLD!”