deepundergroundpoetry.com

Hidden

From the castle, gargoyles, sit and loom,
Over the dark cemetery's gloom,
Illuminated only by a full moon,
Where is buried, that loon,
That tramp, that tart, my man she thought she could swoon.

Gatekeepers and guardians of her tomb,
Buried within the earth's womb,
Yet, no comfort shall she receive,
When all she will perceive,
Is Hell all around her,
While I dance above her.

Monsters, phantoms, gouls, Imps, demons,
Yet, no one sees them or their actions,
Hide in the shadows,
And in the light of the medows.

Monsters of the deep,
Monsters of the shadow, make not a peep,
I've stayed quiet all these years,
I have nothing to worry, no fears,
She is now gone, he is all mine,
All because she crossed the line.

I came to her in the night,
Like a phantom, but subdued her before loud fright,
Brought her to an undisclosed location,
Where on this occasion,
I had such a fun time,
I spoke to her in rhyme.

I riddled her,
And when she new not the answer,
I burned the answer into her,
Letter by letter,
With an A-Z branding set,
Prolonging, stalling, until she was dead.

Chained to the wall,
Naked and all,
I made her watch me burn her expensive clothing,
Then with fluids overflowing,
Blood, and others, as I hurt her inside,
Fate has turned her tide.

The grim reaper came by,
And looked through the window, with hopes held high,
I let him in,
And as he closed in,
Her light was fading,
As he was waiting,
For the taste of soul,
And full control,
Forever, of her body,
And her psyche.

She, inside was ruined,
Then with over one hundred stab wounds,
I was able to watch the life leave her eyes,
As they glassed over, her eyes,
And rolled back inside her head,
Then I cut off her head.

I left her in a fetal position,
In a grotesque fashion,
Inside a chest,
A treasure trove of flesh from that pest.

They found her the next day,
Holding her head in her hands, away,
From her neck,
That pitiful wreck,
A woman improper,
Now a beautiful sculpture, a cadaver.

And they placed her in that grave,
I stayed behind a few minutes to spit on her grave,
And planted the seeds of hemlock, poison ivy, and brambles,
To stop the arrivals,
Of people at her grave.

And when he came back to the grave,
To say it was time to go,
He found me "praying", and with my love, I did follow.

Now, the years have gone by,
And the gargoyals are the only things to remember it by,
That happy fun time, hurting her,
That blissful moment, ending her.

Under our noses, monsters hide,
And walk with us, side-by-side.
They keep up an innocent facade,
And above their heads, a silence accolade.
One cannot see the shadow under their nose,
It hides under it's sweet scent of a rose.
Which one is the monster?
The life wrecker?
Or the martyr?

That is for you to say...