Lythancrope Metastis~Part One

Empty black eyes stare into the mirror,

And there resides the reflection,

Which bears the monster,

That yearns to break flesh from the body,

And devour it.

The change consumes you in ugly metamorphosis,

That suffocates you,

And the human escapes to a place of no consciousness,

Not knowing of the terror until the transformation turns to mortal again.

The blood echoes in your mouth,

Of the lives that you could not stop from ending,

The hearts that you stopped with clawed hands,

That are adorned no longer in claws,

But curved fingernails,

That hold flesh and gore beneath.

Bodies ridden in demise,

Punctured with needles still in place,

That now cease to bleed.

Pain of soul consumes the psyche,

Heartache is the worst pain...

To it,

Torture is nothing.

Blood rolls in torrents into sewers,

Your heart clenches as if by a vice.

The day screams in your ears,

Simulating like the full moon,

That causes agony and affliction,

Gnawing at rationality.

Break the speculum that yells to your thoughts to end it all...

Just one cut,

One slash,

One bullet,

The plague would end,

Though possible damnation would pursue,

In the tome would be heart speared through at this "turning back on God"...

But it is not,

The end of a painful legacy of reclusive entity, insanity and abnormality.

So what shall the choice be made?

Decision done on the next waxing moon...