Twisted

I'd rip your head of just to sow it back together with barbwire, i'm that twisted, but not as twisted as your childrens necks, after i'm done with them you'll wish they'd never been born, and i just wish i could send them back to the womb, so after abortion i could stab the fetus with syringes until my fingers get blisters, i swear i'll vanish your whole fucking existence with a single thought, trap you deep within this paradox, and torture you to the eternal music of crying angels, who now mourn the loss of another soul.