One Last Wish Before Dying





This is my hell-bent agenda
One of scandalous expulsion
The kind your very worst nightmares tender
Eyes bathed in revulsion
And lament of the undead


Gonna paint this town deep red
As if the wounded sky had bled
What color better
To feather my nest
Tie both hands together
Then sever your legs


It would appear
My current mind state
Is not altogether correct
Let’s make it clear
You see, good grace
Is something I never possessed


Got some mucus to hack off my chest
Would be fruitless to offer a mild decongestant
As this is no mere case of acid indigestion
Simply feeling murderous
Three headed like a Cerberus
No relent until I’ve placed you under cardiac arrest


I’m sensing unrest
Not ever-so vague
And you bet
That has to do
With the unbearable pain in your chest
As I reach in and tear your heart out
Take one bite now then
Spit out the rest


Good luck getting me to confess
To your mortal undoing
Even though this farewell address
Is absolutely no less than my doing


Some may think me crazy for the plot I have brewing
Call it moral ruin
Blame it on a bad case of emotional bruising
A fragile mind placed under too great a stress
Likely none the wiser
To the pleasures I’m pursuing
But you see, sane mind
Is something to which I have never professed to possess


This is my hell-bent agenda
A skin trade of hell for imitation leather
I’m a good country mile from the end of my tether
Endeavoring to make a right bloody mess
Cimmerian shade in both eyes as I stress
You really should have known better


Your constant lack of cognizance for the hole you dig displeases me
Bleeding noxious narrative
With the solitary aim of needling me
It’s too late now to save your skin
As you have awoken the beast in me
No longer pinned down
Contained within
But primed to devour unceasingly


So what’s it going to be?
The choice is still your own
Albeit tenuously
Continue to pursue your own bitter resolution
And I shall go about my retribution strenuously
Make no mistake, I have every intention of looping your misery endlessly
And it just so happens I’ve been a busy little deviant
Moonlighting in necropsy


You are my hell-bent agenda
You are the victim I’ve bided my time for
Centuries you claim to have survived for
But the truth is
You were dead the very second you miscarried
Will take more than a long aborted fetus to defeat this
Now, about that one last wish






Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill





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