Gory

Lovers Torture.

My bones seem to reverberate,
Oh, please God, stop the shakes.
Someone should offer my place.
Something must be an escape.

Don't give me any more wine,
I know you're not this kind.
Stop feeding my rage;
Just let me out of this cage.

Such heavy manacles on my wrists.
Why do you have to torture me like this?
Can't you just leave me alone?
I said go!

Don't give me any more food.
I'd rather starve than be with you.
Stop feeding my hatred.
Just end this; tear me to shreds.

You should shut it; I'm not fine.
I'm not a fool to your lies.
No, it's not you I need.
Go away and leave me be!

Don't leave a rose when you go.
It holds your fragrance; and with that I will not cope.
Stop trying to give me love,
When I die I'll send you torture from above.

Is that a knife at my thigh?
Hurry and say goodbye.
His forked tongue makes my stomach churn.
What I'd give for my head to turn.

Don't feed my fear.
I'd cut off your face to get rid of that leer.
Stop grinning at my threats.
You won't be laughing when I'm holding your neck.

What I'd give to make your death slow.
I know you're alive; the voices told me so.
Just my imagination?
I'll show you abomination!

Don't you free my life.
Hell, if you do you'd better hide that scythe.
Stop unlocking the manacles from me.
Screw you; this isn't funny!

Ah, gods, run home!
Hurry up, leave me alone.
Please, please, run faster!
Can't you see you've created a monster?

You know what? Never mind.
I've already cleaved into your life.
Now that I've got your heart,
I'm going to tear you apart.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

For Ethan.

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Puppeteer.

Strings dangling from Divine Obscurity,
The laughter wafts to ears so murkily.
Walls of paper made too thin.
And minds' filled with such deep sin.
Blood marks the floor beneath shoe,
Spider webs clinging to the feet too.
Pulse sounds through the unsteady air,
Basking into the Puppeteer's lair.
Thoughts swimming with wounds agape,
Barely letting notice of the chills on the nape.
Cool breezes rush through ripped curtains,
The freeze being noticed and staying for certain.
Smiles being shown with fangs out;
Wires protruding from each one's snout.
Mist and fog creep so slowly,
As shapes so mighty ooze ever lowly.
Mercy unknown as knives are raised to throats,
The scent of blood too hot in the air-taken to notes.
But ones' mind doesn't leer.
Which of us is the puppeteer?

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