King of shredded skin,
he plays their pain like violins.
He sits atop a mountain of corpses,
a smile on his face, scars on his heart.
Pulling the strings with devious forces,
he weaves his fingers through broken parts.
The emperor of mortality,
beyond human morality.
He sits on his throne of skin,
bitter contempt tears him apart.
A monster of the flesh he has always been,
the binding of sorrow and loathing could only be called art.
Admiring his kingdom of flesh,
carving his throne with murderous thresh.
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Nocturnal Lullabies (#Wattys2018 Winner)Poetry
Even within the deepest and most hideous depths of darkness, we may find a glimmer of beauty. Gothic, gloomy and macabre poetry. Featuring works inspired by phantoms, occultism, vampires, cursed maidens, tragic monsters and other haunting themes sur...