Friday, October 14, 2011


"I've slit the angel's dying throat. Watching with an intense fascination as all it's life comes flowing out in one foul stream.

The way it creeps along such succulent flesh like a worming caterpillar upon a leaf.

I used to love the way you touched me. I used to enjoy all the ways you abused me.

Now you're dead.

Dead like the rest.

And so I write a requiem for you to browse in vain.

Screaming such profanity that it distorts and reeks of agony.

You had your chance to own me.

I looked towards you like my child.

Yet you cast me down like an unworthy god. Taking my place upon the pedestal of MY design.

I gave you wings.

You removed mine.

Crippling me like a worn out toy, falling apart after so many years of use.

I'm just a shadow now. A shadow of my former glory.

Will I ever reclaim the place I so rightfully deserve?

I doubt I ever will.

Because of YOU.

Destroying my twisted reality with a flick of your misbegotten wrist.

Spreading the black blood of a dying soul. Sending me hurtling downwards and into the role of a thrall.

I wanted to see you burn.

Yet Puppet forgave you.

Now he looks towards Him.

That sneer splitting wide his tattered face.

There will be blood. There will be death.

Once the Scarecrow and the Mannequin meet.

Nothing will survive.

Not even me..." 


  1. if a dead man speaks in an empty forest
    who hears him?

  2. The many minds that have consumed his sanity.