In perpetual arrogance, no warmth can be spread, for my content is

unrecognizable.

You hope to torment me with despair and your…angelic fury, my corruption is

unforgiving.

You foresight my shattered heaven, and sacrifice the familiar to insure that I am

alone.

In my serene and demonic insanity, my murder is a final penance to

Force caution.

Yield, my celestial sin, I find no salvation in your spirit, purity, or love,

But in your vicious and putrid veins.

This acrid and crimson agony, is so righteous, bewildered by my

Determination to see your death.

I whisper:

it is nice to be home.