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Blood Haiku

Fortunate devil

By Anna TorresPublished 10 months ago 2 min read
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Blood Haiku
Photo by Sumit Saharkar on Unsplash

Captive bodies left in your wake. Captured souls forever walk the plank. I’ve burned these bridges just to watch you die. It’s a shame to waste the light without a proper goodbye. Your belated bones smear your atrocity all over the walls. A blood haiku written before your eventual downfall. Have you seen all there is to see? Have you become the very demon you always hoped to be? Polished entrails erupt out of your cocoon. I set up the trap and hope you arrive soon. You chose your mayhem and I’ve chosen bliss. There’s no return from this awful wickedness. A fortunate devil in the making. A neurotic world is yours for the taking. I’m unaware of what truly lies beneath the surface. Your masks falls to the floor amidst your chaotic mess. Behold! A current flowing towards devastation. Your undoing is the dam that will come down with adulation. You don’t get to live out your life in makeshift peace. Secrets will spill out and resurface from the deep. You’re not allowed to move on in perfect harmony. Crimes must be punished with the utmost severity. Graves will be dug in hopes your limbs lie still. I’ll give you a head start until it’s time to kill. Rudimentary and rotten to the core. You’ll never outrun the pain you’ll be remembered for. A dictator ruling over a fallen reich. A Rasputin trying to flee out into the unruly night. Twisted fate will come hunting for you. To sniff you out and take your job from you. What is left of you that is human and remarkable? Undamaged pasts are not always incorruptible. You have come to do the devil’s work and work you shall. All your sufferers couldn’t see past your deluded rationale. Your empire topples with a shudder and a whimper. A timeline of sacrifices made at the altar of sinners. Have you said farewell to all you chose to be? Have you said goodbye to the death machine you came to be? A war played out on the stage with victims and perpetrators. History never remembers the invaded, only the invaders.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Anna Torres

I’m a 37-year old mother. I love reading, metal music, and writing. I have begun writing again since 2021

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