I was fantasize by the smell of death.
I mangled your soul and tore you apart.
Your flesh, your blood, was my favorite fare.
As your lips, your neck, and your eyes were looking at me.

I like the way you scream for help.
Those frowns on your face put a smile on my heart.
I find joy in seeing other people's melancholy.
But yours was the best form of misery.

If you're in despair, so am I.
You pulled me down along with your wickedness.
You ended up in your own pain because of those sinful acts.
And I suffered because of my own inquisitiveness.

The way we dig our own demise is dreadful.
And imagine being slaughtered by our own curiosity.

© Havoc