The Ravens gather for a death
Cold wind hits back
Black silhouettes of darkness
Fly in lack.

One of those death parties,
You know?
Where the trees rustle,
And winds blow.

Almost like a memorial
To celebrate life
In a way,
In terms of strife.

They join together
Gather round
Eye gawkingly
Fly without sound.

Cold-fingered Dawn
Arises from afar,
The last time this corpse
Will see her star.

I watch
From afar off.
Look at their ritual,
Hear their scoff.

They call me,
They entice
They beckon thither,
Partake! In our rotting sacrifice.

One of those death parties,
You know?
Far away,
In the bloodied snow.

I advance further,
Closer to the Feast.
A choice meal, delicacy,
Enjoyed by the Least.

The Ravens gather for a death,
Something to love,
Flying up up high
On the wings of a dove.

One of those death parties,
You see?
One those,
All full of Glee.

Almost like a memorial
Together to eat
Celebrate the life
Of our favourite meat.

you are so young, yet you crave the body of many goddesses.
you expect them to be at your feet, to fan away your worries.
you sit in your throne, and leave your mouth ajar, in order for the delicate fingers to intricately place the grapes on your hungry tongue.
you stare gawkingly at all the beauty the goddesses behold, thirsty for their warm, rich skin
you crave the pleasure you imagine they could provide to you
you crave their soft, melodic moans, that are sweet music to your ears
you crave that touch only the highest power could gift to you
you, constantly wanting more, don't recognize the true potential of a goddess
you, constantly trying to please what lies between your legs and the rest of the world, don't recognize their intelligence, and their wiseness beyond their years
you are not worth the goddess, or any goddess
you are hungry
you are thirsty
you are desperate
and desperation only leads to loneliness, you ******* fool.