Thoughts of a Loner.

Whips of Sadism.

Peace in chaos he sees,
As he finds his darkness in the dimly lit bar,
Polished wood reflecting his crimson insanity,
Beyond the mask of kindness he holds,
A goblet of Irish whiskey a muse in his hand,
Golden liquid resonating the siren's call,
In the chaos of others,
Beyond their fragile happiness,
He laughs,
In midst of all the laughter alone he squanders,
His mask a fragile disguise to contain his insanity,
If stripped away the animosity shall be seen,
A mind where darkness flows freely as smoke,
Sadistic urges and promises hidden beneath,
Beneath his twisted demeanour.

Peace in chaos he sees,
His crimson eyes a predator's hunt,
Hunting for one who shall acquiesce,
Jealousy a shadow that lingers down his sturdy spine,
In every stolen glance a damsel's heart shatters,
As he strangles and assaults their soul,
Leaving them scarred for a lifetime of agony and fear,
Threat a twisted dance to his lingering fingers,
Joy of others a bitter sting,
He suffers in their gleaming delight and flourish in agony,
As he years to crush their fleeting glee,
To taint their happiness his heart,
Calumny at it's finest,
To mark their world with his darkened sin.

Peace in chaos he sees,
Addictions chain unseen yet tight,
Suffocating with similar mannerism as he does,
As he does in his body's heat,
The damsel whimpering beneath his beastality,
Shackles of addiction drug him deep,
Deeper into the savouring night,
The whiskey burns as soothing wrath,
Fueling his dark desires,
Oppressing the effervescent souls,
In each sip he drowns his escapism,
Darker dawn as he paints the women he seeks,
The warmth a fleeting ally,
Leading his darkened demise.

Peace in chaos he sees,
With each cruel word he utters,
Seeping poison in the mind of his mistresses,
A twisted game he cherishes fine,
He finds pleasure in the shame of other's,
As they whimper and squirm beneath his burning whip,
Inflicting pain was his twisted art,
He a renowned artist,
Physical or mental he cares not,
The cries of others filling his soul with unknown joy,
A puppet master was he,
The strings stitched into the soul of his damsels,
Damsels wishing a rescue from his grasp,
As he pulled their glassy strings,
Delighting in their unending suffering.

Peace in chaos he sees,
As shadows linger in the corner of his mind,
Self destruction a burning bullet,
Bullet shot in his heart,
A hollow poison trickling deep,
The consequence of every sin he caused,
Every benevolent soul he crushed mercilessly,
As voices fade over and over,
His mind silent,
Quiescence,
As he lifts his goblet of shimmering topaz,
A final toast to the darkness he dwells within.

~ Sapphirus