Macabre
Her face is smudged with the color blood red that’s painted on her lips, as though the mark was left there after an unwanted kiss
Those lips are sewn shut she mustn’t and cannot speak, this is her punishment all because he deemed her too weak
All alone she is banished to this cell, where memories of others haunt her dreams from skeletons buried there
Lives that once meant something someone that was once loved, she ponders if they received the same fate all because they weren’t enough
Then she is spoken to in the depths there in the dark, and as the light shines upon his face she knows he has no heart
His eyes they’re darker than the blackest of seas, and he taunts her to try, and escape give him a beg, a plead
He’s demented and he is intrigued by the calmness there in her eyes, he dreams of cutting them out with his knife that he carries by his side
He has no feelings, no remorse at all, his face is a depiction of an executioners wall
Because there in those dark eyes and in the lines of his face, if you look closely, you can still see the blood shed of the others who once stood in her place
She is just one of many in a line of dying souls, being wielded around like a weapon and feeling every torturous blow
She takes the torture, the pain, the truth, that this is her end, because she is the next skeleton in the procession line for this dance of macabre and for him the fun is only about to begin
He loves the gore, the death, the grisly atrocity of it all, and here he is the ringmaster, the dealer of death, the devil that makes the calls.
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