A white page,
A broken heart,
Unfiltered rage,
Creates unparalleled art.
Pain is my paint,
Death is my brush,
The sin of a saint,
Gives off quite the rush.
The plan is in place,
And the sketching begins,
Forming the face,
Of the monster within.
The brush dances,
The knife falls,
Vengeance advances,
Innocence bawls.
The painting complete,
I, the artist, swell with pride.
as Hell opens at my feet.
I’m the one who died.
A canvas of blood,
Dripping to the ground,
As I lay still in the mud,
Vengeance I found.
