I'm pretty sure there's plenty of ways it could be improved. _____________________________________________________________________________
Kindly voices are cut out of my world, like a snuffed candle flame.
As Death impresses the crest of cold tears on me,
I am benighted like Usher's wicked fate. The house of Bathory
is shrouded 'neath the crimson rust essence flowing from my dark facade.
If only I could have wept in mourning by her side, that young beautiful nymph.
I would have clasped her so tight, drowning her in tides of blood.
But instead, as I drank from her bright youthful neck,
I only marveled at the fact that I was gaining new, remorseless life.
While her breath wore out on a frozen breeze, she whispered
the story of her raucous and hushed existence among the wealthy living.
I am wealthy. I am young. But who was this poor child who never knew
enlightenment?
To never be told of the twisted nails of faith, the sacrilegious scorn of the world,
it must be unbearable as living life as a black widow, living life as me.
I hurriedly brush away at those tremulous thoughts,
inhaling the pale waning moonlight that creeps ever so softly
up velvet coated stairs. And I exhale the toll of widowhood on my life.
Waxing eternal night now enters my soul. As young blissful life empowers me,
I harangue the grey veiled skies with revenge upon the lives
that they take from me, throwing this curse on me so that I cannot stay alive
without beautiful young maidens' life essences. Delusions cloud my mind,
denouncing a revolt that I had sworn to uphold against this disenchanted vault
I am forever entombed in. Glyphs from Golgotha encircle the mist around me,
feasting.
In my age, blank faceless scarecrows of Christ destroy all the lands.
I, an aloof Countess, was only born to be an obsidian wraith and I have dared
to enter the abyss, though I know well I am already damned.
My life whispers of grief, stretching across a vast funeral march, as I am twisting
and yearning for those to succumb to cruelty and royalty. Alas, I am the beast.
Obsessed and entranced, I am a whirlwind of fire that is crushed through the briers.
My thickets of black thorns have captured yet another sweet succulent rose.
I demand the Heavens forever to glean my ethereal elixir I received from the pure.
While my lurid fantasies roam to extremity, decades unleash once more
my revitalizing blood slicked cure. Though my reign will end swiftly,
I dream to the dark Gods that my beauty may not wilt, unseen, but if so it does,
May my soul part in peace or burn in Hell for company…
accompanied.
