#slayer
Amidst the twelfth hour
When I shut my eyes
It is always you I see
Very still before me
Overwhelmed by your intriguing beauty
Distressed by your magnetic glow
Invariably my old wounds slash wide
As my sullen moods follow
I freeze at the yells
Of the sacrificed ones
And helpless witness them flood
Your antic temples
With innocent blood
Like the spinning moth
In the merciless light
The stage is set
For my untimely death
Have you drawn closer
Or is it me
Pray hurry
Torture afresh till dawn
Your victim’s ready
I won’t cry I won’t flee
Of a perfect lover and slayer
Oh Venus I swear
I could never have dreamt
Of none other than thee!
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 7:02 AM UTC
I called someone a
mother ******
did they know
that they had an
Oedipus complex?
I make Frued proud
on a daily basis.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:58 PM UTC
Her legs went up
Behind her
Her mouth gapping
In delightful excitement
***** you disgust me
I say to her
What round eyes
You have
Now I take a second
Look at the veins
In her neck
Bulging hot red
In an instant
I grab her
Biting till I choke her
She cringes
She screams
She starts tapping
On the bed
Let me in
I whispered deeply
While feeling
The coarsness of her
Warm succulent beauty
Between my nostrils
And lips
She claws at my mouth
Opening her viscious
World to me
That's more like it
I yell in delightful beauty
Uh oh too late shes dead
And I drop her
On the floor
And go hunt
The grounds
For more
Yummmmm
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
Unknown, Unseen
A hooded giant.
With silent feet.
The Dragon Slayer,
He is called.
Although,
If you look into the sky,
You will see him
Flying high
On the back
Of a magnificent dragon.
Stroking its back.
His eyes,
filled with compassion
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
I wish to learn the secrets, so eternal
of spiritual transformation
To know the ways of the Ferryman
To usher souls through and beyond
I long to master the art
of cosmic transference
To carry the departed
to their resting place
And to be their guardian
It is not an act of hate,
Sick lust or twisted love
it is not the fault of rage
Nor is it for fun.
I do it in the name of
inhuman artistry
My life i've dedicated
To the Reaper's harvesting.
This world is such an ugly place
I'm your savior in a way
I cut you loose and set you free
I grant your spirit liberty...
Evil exists in all colors and codes
there's every kind of shape and size
A world ablaze, drowning in torture and ****
We could use a few more minds
like mine.
I am not a killer.
I am an apprentice of death.
I will guide your spirit home
on the wings of your last breath.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
The reaper's eyes were on her,
Yet she never bowed.
The reaper's ax chose her,
Yet she never soughed.
Death was finally in love,
With the girl he could never cow,
For she was something he could never have,
A girl with a skin too firm to swallow.
Why couldn't he touch the girl,.
The girl whose tears never fell,
The girl whose eyes are pearl,
The girl whose voice is a shim of bell?
Her secret wasn't a mystery,
She was too pure to be touched by maleficence.
The reaper desired her for her rarity,
But his hands burned at the touch of virtuousness.
Death chased her everyday,
In the hopes of taking her soul,
But her soul was too far away,
Far away for him to hold.
The young maiden didn't even notice
The harvester at her tail.
She was too involved in lightness
For her to witness his veil.
The reaper's ax was rotting,
It was yearning blood,
Though who he was lusting,
Was nothing but an illusion set by god.
The girl was a mirage,
God's own penalty,
Towards the slayer,
That gave birth to misery.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
I slay girls with dark hearts
Real love rips them apart
They melt with true love kisses
They want to be beep's misses
But i know better im up for forever
But a loving girl never comes around
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
Tania slurps her cheap beer and uncrosses her legs,
exposing fresh bruises from the soup factory.
She outlines them in marker and draws
a smiley face on one located on her right thigh.
*These bruises tell me that my life is composed
almost entirely of bad decisions*, she says,
replacing the cap on the marker. I ask how
a decision could form such a perfect,
purple circle. Between swallowing
beer and peering into the rain,
she burps. *I can't say, but--
I mean, do you want
to have *** Later on
I drive her to the
hospital and I visit
a therapist. For
a few months.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC