Curtain Call
For my script,
I need the scream
upon her lips,
as that sanguine stream
slowly drips-
But as in a dream,
it never slips
from her sealed seam.
Why must my perfection
be hindered
by her freakish defection?
Your performance rendered
meaningless, another infection
of art's splendor, now surrender
to my exquisite collection.
Alas, she is by far less
Vicious and Vile-
yes, take a guess-
than the punch-o-phile.
That horrendous dress
clashes with my style,
I can't work with this stress-
let me rip off that smile.
Flaunting your fists,
how obscene,
those puny wrists
in such distracting machines.
Why does she persist,
as her face turns green-
gaping hole in her breast
where her heart should have been.
Honor? What is honor
but a useless construct
for empires to conquer?
A big brute inducts
peasants to Demacia's order,
while he just obstructs
lady death's concert-
time for me to conduct.
Step up to the stage,
dance and whirl all day
in your "just" rage-
the simplest kind of play.
I'm not even engaged
by your foolish ballet-
Like a dog in my cage,
your sight turns to gray.
Gray, black shadows,
professional mark-maker:
useless for my shows.
A fraud, a faker,
the drollest of prose.
Take my advice: become a baker.
I'll strike a pose
while you cater.
So dark, so mysterious,
I am so very afraid-
you must be delirious
to think I would be swayed.
Stand sharp, imposing, imperious-
thanks for the shade.
Now die in your hole, inglorious,
while I get paid.
Cover art by CKibe on DeviantArt