Soul Crusher

Shall I compare thee to a demon's sharp horns?

Or a beautiful rose, enshrouded in thorns,

A vengeful dragon with breath of black fire,

And the darkest of hearts, only Satan could admire,

A typhoon of ferociousness, clearing all in its path,

A plague of disease, full of merciless wrath,

Turning light into darkness and hopes into fears,

Unleashing its torment in a monsoon of tears.

Shall I compare thee to a venomous snake?

Or the screams of a Witch's last breath on the stake,

Deafening thunder of the Gods, great Olympus falls,

A whirlwind of evil crumbling Jericho's walls,

More vile and cerebral than a Satanists verse,

More sinister and viral than a Pharaoh's curse,

The ear shattering sirens of the trumpets of death,

Contrasted by the silence of its victim's last breath.

Shall I compare thee to a funeral knell?

Or the smell of burnt flesh from the depths of this hell,

The cauterized wounds from the knives in my back,

Or the gnashing of the marrow in my bones as they crack,

The applier of the noose to the necks of the weak,

The destroyer of optimism and bringer of bleak,

Grab for your crucifix and hope your prayer holds,

There shall be no forgiveness from the crusher of souls.

One Day

They knew not the corpse they slain, even as it bled,
The monster in the ambient nightmare resurrected,
Forged in flame and doused in potent gasoline,
Left for dead in fire and vitriol, infected.

They knew not the casket that they filed with a body,
The slivers left in their flesh from its weight their only proof,
The dirt left caked on their soul-less shoes the reminder,
Of the heart they crushed and left lost and aloof.

They knew not the hope they drowned in sorrow,
Or the optimism they crushed without a care,
Silent the killer, even moreso the victim interred,
Without even a stone to mark the place of the soul laid there.

They knew not the angel they created with their crime,
The Prince reborn of grace so remarkable and well,
The heart they tried to kill and send to listless eternity,
Is now reincarnated into its glory from that hell.

They knew not the foolish decision they had made,
They knew not the person deep within they threw away,
They knew not the resilience that resides within my soul,
My happiness will come in spite of them all... one day.

Enslaved In Psychosis

Rendered catatonic by my delusions and empty dreams,
Lost within my own minds eye, and tearing at the seams,
My grandeur visions... epiphanies, my lost reality... parasites,
Plunge me hopelessly into abysmal nights.

Jaded... my flesh tainted, my soul invaded by sorrow,
Consumed by tragedies of yesterday, and fearfulness of tomorrow,
I carry the virus of of trepidation deep within my veins,
Leaving me somber and dilapidated and covered in these stains.

Surgical in my own self destruction, the Doctor of my own demise,
Sordid is the optimism within, that slowly rots and dies,
Neurotically denying all that which has weakened my soul,
Necrosis slaughters my living cells, as misery takes control.

Systematic in my quest for relief from the tormenting pain,
Perseverance by my side as I steal out into the violent rain,
To shatter the shackles that bind me, and keep me from my dreams,
Eyes fixed... without wavering, on the prize, that even now still gleams...

The Wait

Beneath the freshly fallen snow, a single flame still burns,
Its gentle smoke seeks the oxygen of freedom for which it yearns,
Unable to be extinguished in spite of the flood that came,
This fire still burns in silent sleep, until my love releases its flame.

Obscured by trails of consequence and timing out of place,
Paled by circumstances dashed in ghostly white across my face,
Asleep, yet awake, but comatose... breathing to stay alive,
Blood still flowing within my veins, until my love again can thrive.

Weakened, my pulse... shallow my heartbeat... transient my mind,
Almost dead, to try and forget the pain I have left behind,
Darkness surrounds me within my grave, motionless and still,
Unwilling to be released, until my love returns me my will.

My wounds are covered in bandages, and stitched together with thread,
Doused in antiseptic and alcohol, in a cast from foot to head,
The IV seeping the nutrients and morphine into my veins,
Numb and unable to feel a thing, until my love removes my pains.

And so I wait... incapacitated. Unable to make a sound,
Until the love that left me, returns to me and turns the spell around,
A Sleeping Beauty of my own...  entombed... until these lips are kissed,
By the Princess, wherever she may be, that eternally, I have missed.