Working Progress

It holds the pen that writes my story, bleeding nib scrolls crimson words "I'm not sorry". You're timeline will be a bloody tragedy, It's your fault because of your fragility, You worthless marionette, you have no ability. I'll carve your rotting limbs and fill your head with bile to the brim. Tighten the strings around your neck and watch as I turn you into a wreck. Familiar eyes lay witness as you fall, collapsed to the ground you try and crawl. Wrenching you from all aspects of touch, a feeble being who yearns for too much. Reach as you may but this detrimental disease hungers for your dismay, "I will never go away".

Consuming everyone's time, I'll consume your every try. Devouring your indiscernible presence, just a vile, tainted crumbling shell of essence. To save this world let me take your soul, your decrepit body is destined for this hole.