I feel no pity...No remorse, nor shame...As i put them to the stake...
Hanging them up by their necks... setting their bodies ablaze..Grinding their ashes between my fingers... before mixing them with my supper.

Am i depraved? Am i what remains.. when the blood of dreams have spilled out of me....
And the darkness took shape... giving birth to despair...

And with its birth amidst my blood and *****.....I also ******* all that humanized my soul.Such is the fate of the slaves....I feed of them to sustain myself a little longer...
A sad comfort i find within the tomb of my hollow shell...The rancid smell of their burning flesh brings me back to my inner battlefields..A fading flame of humanity has all but illuminate the way back...

Am I to be dragged upon the altar and submit myself to the thralls?I feel the lash carve open my flesh and tearing my muscle..Nothing but muzzle flashes as i faint from sight..

Awakening at the sight of flesh flies feasting on my festering wounds..I am consumed alive amidst the filth and dirt i left behind...And am exposed for the maggot i am on the inside....

My consciousness evaporates into the faint smell of burning flesh...

Drooling with ravenous hunger.. I gluttonously gorge myself and snarl at the hand that feeds me...Like the ghoul i am... I drool at the sight of the master throwing his dogs a bone...And if he wants me to roll over and play dead...I shall not doubt nor neglect....I will submit myself to his will.. and undergo the bereavement of my innocence.

Until I blossom like nightshade...and reach my full potential...

And i will be burned as incense and my ashes processed in a final supper for all to consume.

She is essence of la bella donna,
    herein lies the paradigm mid
       ***** pearls & nightshade's poison,
exhales echoes of dark crescent moons &
        sandalwood's perfumed incense
burning sentience of duality's seasonings
   'tween contradiction 'neath her own breath,
  born to gypsy souls 'twixt a solar eclipse
    she worried naught what society thought,
her poetry was incalculably beyond measure
     neither less than or more than incurable,
   rendered nuances as a badge of significant honor
      gaily whirling beyond distinctive contrasts,
            'neath importance of individuality's calling
      amidst her own unique indulgent nature,
                  dazzling sensuality's intrinsic whimsy

.
   Beneath a mystic moon an ancient air—
         A melody only
            And lonely—
Is sung by her with moonshine eyes and shadowy hair.
   Across the seas of water and time
         She sings to me.
         Each line and rhyme
         I strangely recall.

         I fall asleep,
         Then wake and creep
   As nightshade over a garden wall;
   And there with all the flowers that bloom
   By moonlight—in the beautiful gloom—
   I start the long journey and hope to come back
   With some of the knowing I knew in the black.