They took another swing of that poisonous clear ichor, smiling with that eerie grin they always had. Skin as black as a winter shadow reflected the fear in those icy eyes left staring for years.
They won't stop what they were doing, and they knew that. They would never stop. Never.
A cold heart is all a human has. Blue blood rushing through those viens is what they live for, yet they never protect it. So simple minded.
Those feeble humans never saw it coming, eyes glued to the phones you watch from. You never look up from those blaring screens that depict the other day's mishaps and troubles, blue green and red visions you try to depict from your level.
You can't escape the mind. You can't escape the fear and blood. It's inside you, just like the bugs that crawl in your home and the lies you are feed for dinner by mum and daddy.
You eat, eat, eat. Fill up dear, it's all you will get for your puny life that you seem to adore so much.
But how do you really feel? Deep inside your worthless soul you are a monster. A needy beast that is never satisfied.
You wish to gorge your own understandings of life, filling up on the fat the seeths through your teeth. You bid adieu to your life, and join the crescent crowd.
I can never dulcify the knell of a church bell, star-crossed and ill-fated for those like us who divide the skies you love to see in the middays.
I'm not fearful to asunder your life, nor to bestrew your mind into their games. So betake oneself onto the poison of the roses, for you are nothing but a incompetent creature, arrantly atrabilious, your brand rusted.
They must make this eld come to an end, the evanescent pastel empyrean is almost gone.
My story will leave you with horripilation, so hark as I illude your senseless vision onto the gloaming hour. Your heart is furbelow with hate and it is fuliginous.
The firmament is flaxen now, rain ichor. You are impuissant and ingrate, ire is what you live on. I shall adorn your body as you become inhumed with a lay as your madding and mephitic life shrivels up.
But remember this, when cockcrow hits, the sound of death will be in clarion and come in celerity, and no longer will you be in a blithely pungent life. Nothing fulgent will show in these lands any longer, and the world will bend will to a fulminate end.