They say forbid the Morbid, I say except the Gothic, wreckless as I am, I have learned to answer with every sound. They scream and cry in Vain. I laugh and watch you writhe in pain. They whine, bitch, then complain. I stay silent, grab the Surenge, stick your skin, and inject your vein.
They one by one, drop from Posion. I stand in wait, for the immortal trait of Death to swoop down and lift up their soul, for their Theatrical Poision. They choke and gag on lifes sweetist blessings. I cough, choke, gag, at their stupid expressions. I love to hear content voices, with an honest smile. they love to hear boreing meaningless chats about their foolish choices. I can't get enough of Blood. Female Cum. Whips, Chains, Pains, and leather attire. I'd sooner see the losers. "They" Retire, before I caved in and Gave up my Inner Desire. Those weaklings bring me to my KNEES! I can't help but be sickened by the Endless Hypocriticals statments, the Indecent, liberal supressions, and the moronic chronic Put down of the Psychotic. |
