Scritching and scratching.
This hobby of patching,
Up the holes torn in,
To absolutely everything.
Mark from the martyr.
They are a fire starter.
Twisted by their joy.
Believe the world to be a toy.
Smile carved from skin.
To them there’s no chagrin.
Juggled states of mind.
Murderous leading the blind,
To feed upon the carrion.
Quintessential vulgarian.
Type who believes in pain.
Only if it helps them gain,
A hold upon the masses;
They’d turn it all to ashes.
Sadistic kind of soul.
Disaster is their only goal.
Cause to them dying is a prize;
As long as you do it before their eyes.
Though humour has no place.
They brand it with disgrace.
Violence is but the key.
They’ll drive it unto anybody.
Anarchy from the vitae.
Wave your last goodbye.

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