A poem of evil, dressed in a name.

by freespirit
a poem of evil, dressed in a name,

In whispered halls, of shadowed vice,

A tale unfolds of cold as ice;

The ink, it bleeds a story old,

Of a girl, whose heart was bought and sold.

Her laughter rang, a chime of dread,

As she danced on dreams that now lay dead;

She knew a boy, so keen and bold,

Who turned warm hearths to nights untold.

A woman wept, ‘neath stars, alone,

Her shelter lost, her fortunes thrown;

And this young girl, with eyes of slate,

Rejoiced in ruin, served by fate.

Her name—oh, speak, but with a hiss,

A sound that slithers into abyss;

For evil donned a comely face,

She wore it well, in dark disgrace.

To relish in the pain of loss,

To toast to chaos, hearts to toss;

She deemed the sorrow of others sweet,

A symphony of souls in defeat.

What twisted paths our lives may take,

When malice is the road we stake.

The girl, a specter of despair,

Feeds on the wrecks from her velvet chair.

Beware, beware the joy in tears,

The reveling in whispered fears;

For in the night, she waits, she stays,

A poem of evil, dressed in a name.

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