The Fall Of Balthazar Rochester

I wasn’t born for war or to serve at its feet.
My life was meant to be success not defeat.
That was until corruption rolled in to town.
Upon its head sat the black barbed crown.
Hands skeletal just like his smile.
While his eyes did nothing but haunt and revile.
For man he was not though he wore such a veil.
And when he talked his voice proved he was not frail.
Cause acidic vitriol is all which spewed from his gob.
All while he cursed each and every poor adult sod.
Made them writhe with a flick of his wrist.
Until finally one eighty all their heads did twist.
From then to now I recall all those screams.
Muted and cut short as were their dreams.
And since that day I have endured.
Turned all that madness into something not flawed.
Which is why I stand atop his dead form.
Bathed in glory now that he is lifeless and gone.
Yet for adoration I did not rise against.
Rather it was for I was incensed.
Determined to put an end to the misery in which he drenched.
And still not enough to make him feel quenched.
For he was a demon in the sickest of skin.
Thankfully in the end he fell to my blade, Pin.