Trigger Warning!
Coup Mortel
; A glint of Inhumanity
; Terza Rima Sonnet
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Pushing up daises, beyond justice.
Thee anthropoid hath reach its grand perhaps;
Lying frigidly on thee bottom footing — custis.
Without any heed, thy gory machine which winds its own springs collapse.
Thee blade of scythe bore down thy fate.
Inevitably and drastically fall into thy homicidal maniac's traps.
Like a cover of an old book thy content torn out and been slaineth because of hate.
What a great swathes of death!
Causeth anthropoid to be in vulnerable state.
Thee demon's plaything foully takes someone's breath.
Thy wickedness, thy discernment without beseech — despondency soothes within.
Sent thee to thy wreath, to thy graveyard and wilt be hidden to thee ground — beneath.
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