Theory of the Damned "Poem"

Theory of the Damned

6/18/20106:00 PM

Chained there, as I taste thy blood.

Within a mirror of a mirror.

And within a portal of a portal.

See me now as I scratch thy skin.

As I bleed thee dry of sanity.

I kiss thy breast like it was the very last piece of gold on this rotting Earth.

Yet ye do not know that thou are to be my humble servant.

Weather ye like it or not!

Chained there, oh my dear, look at thy master.

You defiant little bitch.

You defiant little whore!

I like it when thou look up at me with fear.

As these Demonic eyes of ruby fire red.

Look beyond thy eyes.

Into the depths of thy soul.

Look at me now.

As I tilt thy head back.

Pull on thy long black hair.

I kiss the mouth of thy face, o how that black lipstick shines in the dim light of my chamber.

My mind echoes my own lustful breath within to enter.

However I like the tease.

It fuels the pleasure.

As I have thee chained there, I wonder.

With my index finger of my right hand in wander at my lower lip.

A look of wonder.

Of observation.

How thou thrash and kick and scream.

Don’t thee know thou are only making it worse for thyself?

O, little human girl, it’s not that.

In fact, I treat my new slaves like this, always.

And once they understand the emotions I have for them.

The sick and twisted pleasure and love.

The climax of my orgasms in their mouth, their cunt, and their hands.

And all over them.

And my days of rape eventually turn into love making with ravaging.

Then they come to understand.

I am not one of these faggot, ill, nasty, stupid insects

Of which roam each night looking to blow

A few hundred for thy use under thy skirt and bra.

I’d take much better care and pleasure and value in thy service.

So don’t thee see?

This, my soon to be love, slave is better than the job of the former whore.

Thou don’t belong on the corner.

But thou belong with me.

To me.

On me.

Riding me.

Serving me.

Kissing me.

I promise once this is all over.

Thee shall come to understand.

And soon thou would much rather want to be in the arms of this specter than the arms of those poor excuses for a man.