Crestfallen

Poem By Robert L. Bixler III

Release the depths of hell in me
And raise furies for the world to see.
Scourned and burnt, blackhearted and alone;
Death's pugnate odor becomes my cologne.

Wraith born of pure hate,
In me, awake late.
Infernos to burn the insolate
Beyond what one can relate.

Burden of dark heart
And desire of blood's red flow start
Daggered tongue and triggered fingers,
I stand tall as your last breath lingers.

Await the final reckoning
When all my fury is self-incriminating.
Laid to rest and life sullen,
I am the crestfallen.

Wraith born of pure hate,
In me, awake late.
Infernos to burn the insolate
Beyond what one can relate.

Guard your soul as I come to take
That which was denied. Fear my hellish wake.
Forgiveness is divine, but mine is of requital.
Bleeded heart and dried soul, my punishment is fit for all.

Wraith born of pure hate,
In me, awake late.
Infernos to burn the insolate
Beyond what one can relate.

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