There is no way out of this box
She was here from the beginning,
Six walls with no view, and
No eyes in the dark
They, they damned her here
To this black void
Consumed by the soundlessness
Of silent silence
Taken from the land of violet skies
Where celestial shines cascaded
In divine waterfalls colored
By an Autumn dream
Now the midnight clouds
Bind her with cold chains.
Do not dance sweet child,
Be a good girl
Our words, our books
Will guide the path
To the places you want,
To be.
Belt straps on her arms,
Chalkboard scratches
Are the friends here,
The friends
Tainted rivers, she breathes
Streams not her own
And knows it,
She does
Little girl smiles,
And the puppeteers rejoice
In songs that thread back
To master-hands; origins
Of a twisted symphony
Told in iron strings
By dreamless demons,
Those devils; all
Welcome home, sweet girl
Come back from those lies
Of spring-laid flowers
And a summer’s kiss
Hold the smile, shows her teeth
And the box does open
To a tattered wasteland
Bereft of child
Paradise lost,
The drowned girl waited
With her lips sewn shut,
No eyes in the dark
Those milky orbs shattered
Crimson box, rusted black pools
Drip from ears no longer there
“Hello old liars,”
This is my nightmare…
Pandora, Pandora, Pandora,
Pandora all,
look upon your
works
As this is, made
Indeed finely
By you
Why scream when I cannot hear?
Why beg when I cannot speak?
Why cry when I cannot see?
Oh but I can,
Evil that I am fluent
Diseased maggots
Mouths festered, cups of parasites
Eating me at birth
Take my light,
You greedy souls
From its absence, I am harbinger,
Feasting crow covered
In ash painted feathers
Flash of darkness
The neck is slit
Bathe in the oceans
The oceans of their blood
Blanket I love, blanket you stole
Mine now, this red rag
Carved from veins
Betrayer’s maze
Father I will kill you
And my name will be Joy,
Pirouetted grave dance
Twisted sickness this happiness is
Swift death shall not come,
Mother, as the reaper
I not am
Scream! Yes, scream!
Your pain sates me
Blood chalk on the walls,
No matter how much the boards are washed they cannot be washed
Of the red,
The red,
Mine.
Crumble, box, crumble,
The wrecking swings
Of torn limbs,
Azrael comes in me
The shadow artist
With the sword-swung brush
Hatred made of scarlet rain
I won’t bury you,
I won’t bury you,
But in the fires
Burn!
Wave to Lucifer
For these chains are but the first
Broken,
And the field of graves will grow corpse by corpse
In healthy numbers of the death bloom
Built by me the builder, filled
With architects’ bones
Tossed to hellhounds
Ripping flesh shrieks
Music makes me sway,
And the price is made
Of…
We are all blood
We are all blood
Above the burning box,
Looking down into the ice
The Ninth Circle;
You belong
Smile,
Little girl
Smile.