Magnificent in your defiling.
That’s why you’re always smiling.
Spinning blades between your fingers.
Prepared to unleash them like zingers.
Bury them right to the hilt.
Ensure that plenty of blood is spilt.
Depraved antics are your calling card.
Isolated just like a shard.
You are sickness;
Filled with violent momentum.
I’m not your anti-venom!
Splendor taken in pain you cause.
Never do you take a moment to pause.
Staring eyes that peer straight through.
Glazed over with no care about who…
Your next victim will ultimately be.
I know there is nothing else you can see.
For fixation is your addiction.
Everything else is pure fiction.
You are sickness;
Filled with violent momentum.
I’m not your anti-venom!
Putrid in the purest sense.
You live in separated tense.
Roiling hate drenched in a sneer.
Addicted to inflicting fear.
Razor teeth and talon nails.
Your path marked by ruined entrails.
Ghostly form flawless like carved stone.
Beneath your boots you create dust from pulverizing bone.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 