Horrid Lore

Have the flaming pits of Hell been forever in your every thought?
Or perhaps in a loop of nightmares is where you're permanently caught
Raising the wraiths and the phantoms and the faceless spectres
Restless malevolent dreamscape creatures and black plague vectors
In that empty place of your heart, you know you're the Devil's whore
Drenched in the blood of humanity and a disciple of the horrid lore
Lingering in death, not living at all, for it's the scythe you'll always wield
Over the fearful massed mortals, who will inevitably weep and yield
Razor the blade will pare the somatic from their bleeding souls
Each and every last one of them, forever yours, to burn on coals