The lost soul
of the death,
that bows,
to the cross head.

The person lost,
with his thoughts
with the
broken sarcasticness.


The darkness,
that spreads,
with a squabble,
of deaths.

The horror spreads.
The Souls of realms.
With the rows,
of screams with,
The reign of death,
have began.

The darkness,
long last,
with the bloody,
taste with,
shiny bloody marks.

Lost with anaepholes,
Lost between Psyche,
with whom to love,
with whom to die,
shall be brought,
by the Reaper of Rust,
OFF NIGHT.


© -Alex