He has languor eyes of amber,
hatred boiling in the chambers
of his heart as he grips the edges
of his throne until his hands reflect
the moon's afterglow.
He bites down on his cherry-stained lips, insanity slipping over his tongue
as he takes his time to savor its rotten, sanctifying taste.
He rolls his neck to the side
to expose his chiseled ivory skin,
and his chocolate curls hang over
his forehead as he closes his eyes
and waits for the masochistic
sensation to seep into the currents
of his bloodstream.
Tugging on his mind lie secrets
and vendettas that no one
can understand - a maze of
complexities that revel in the
cruelest of thoughts, where
inflicting pain erects onyx
temples of twisted euphoria.
With a long sigh, he opens his
citrine eyes and takes in the sight
before him, a rush of satisfaction
slithering down his spine.
Is it evil of me
to be addicted
to slaughtering
evil people?
He wonders
as the blood of those
who wronged him
drifts across the marble floors
like red wine.
Or does it make me the good guy?
YOU ARE READING
The Ebb & Flow of Virtue
Poetry~ There is good and bad constantly warring with each other inside you, a small voice resounds in my conscience just as my vision dips underneath the salty water, it is similar to how the land fights with the sea, the sky with gravity, the light...
