The Poetry Of Your Death
Greetings to the undead and the ghosts among us! grant me thy lust and thirst to hunt and amuse myself as I take on the role of the Countess. And while the demons dance and Lilith steals the breath of the babies, I will hunt my mistress down and take her to my gloomy castle.
My heart turned to stone and crumbled into a black abyss when I found out about your dark words and ways. You lay at his bed and spread your legs wide letting your venom splash accross. Deceiving yourself and I as one, when you've declared words of love that are now dead as yesterday's black roses laying at the feet of a fresh grave. And as the corpse inside it dies and rotts away, so does my soul. My soul laying inside my own body like a carcass resting within a coffin, trapped forever. The apple is lucious and red, but inside the worms eat at its heart.
But before I plan mine own suicide and dream of better days, I will rape your mind, torture your soul and crucify your body glorifying your cunt that is now loose and disease ridden. As I place you on your very own specially hand made cross upon the hills that watch over my castle, I will nail you onto it and laugh along to your screams, licking the blood that now runs down your wrists and ankles.
Tasting your lies. Tasting your fear.
The crying of the crows can be heared from a distance. They will devour your body, no doubt, Sucking on your eyeballs as if they were a royal delight. For they answer my call and their lady - My Patron whom justifies my vengence and blood lust - Has already sent them and the black dogs to feed on your cadaver when I am done so artistically remodelling it to fit my psychotic sadistic fantasies and desires.
The beauty of your death will shame that of Mary Kelly's and will satisfy the Gods above who seek revenge as I do.
And as the black skies open with flights of archangels full of Y-H-V-H's wrath come down to pull your soul away, I will greet them and offer them your heart. Then, I will watch them shove their hands into your mouth and pull your dark spirit out, full of sins and destruction you've left behind.
When my art work is done, and when all has gone quiet and the chaos has left my home - I will lay you in a black coffin and burry you upon that same hill. Next to your grave, a small tree will grow giving life to poisonous fruits that will surely tell the story of your life and death.
Soon after, I will hang myself from the roof of my castle, making sure your hill will be the last thing my eyes will see in this lifetime.
You are my last broken memory.
(c) Michelle Koren, 2005