"Mirror, Mirror On The Wall Shouldst Not Grave Pleasures
Be My All? For If I Shall See Thy
Will Be Done Grant Me The Witchcraft Of Thy
Tongue" Three Moondials Froze In The Shadow Of Six As
Another Soul Passed To The Grasping Styx Clutching Their
Trinket Crucifix Bats Blew From Caves In A Dissonant
Surge Omens Of Corruption From Within The Church A Fetid,
Dank Oasis Still Clung To Fool Rebirth Alone As
A Stone Cold Altar The Castle And Its Keep Like
Faerytale Dominion Rose A Widow To The Snow Peaks Wherein
Reclined The Countess Limbs Purring From The Kill Bathed In
Virgin White And Like The Night Alive And Young
And Unfulfilled Was It The Cry Of A Wolf That
Broke The Silver Thread Of Enchanted Thoughts? Of Her
Life As A Mere Reflection (As The Moon's In
Narrow Windows Caught) That Opened Like Dark Eyelids On The
Sigh Of The Woods That The Wind Fell
Upon Like A Siren Weaving Song From The Lilt Of
Choirs Choking Where The Vengeful Dead Belong... To The Sorceress And
Her Charnel Arts She Swept From Ebon Towers At
The Hour Of Mars 'Neath A Star-Inwoven Sky Latticed
By Scars To Unbind Knotted Reins That Kept In
Canter, Despair Shod On Melancholy, Fleet To Sanctuary There, In
Netherglades Tethered Where Onyx Idols Stared Was It The
Kiss Of The Mist That Peopled The Air With
The Prowess Of Absinthe? Lost Souls Begging Resurrection From Gods
Upon Their Forest Plinths Whose Epitaphs Read Of Re-Ascending
To Win Remission From Despair Through A Holocaust Of
Sin In A Tongue Hilted In Invective Rectums Over Signs
And Seals The Sorceress Prayed To Death, To Rend
The Slender Veil That Ancient Ones Might Rise Again As
Shadows Swelled The Countess Fell To Masturbating With Her Dagger As
The Witch Gabbled Spells Cumming Heavy Roses All The
Way To Hell As Sudden Thunder's Grue Harangue Announced Two
Pincered Worlds Exuding Bane, Something Came With The Stench Of
Necrophiled Graves To These Clandestines Who Shrank From Glimpsing Horror That
The Growls Of Mating Houls Inclined... Resplendent In Pendants (Natal Trophies
Torn From Bellies Of Desanctified Nuns) A Demons, Bewinged,
Bedight In Scum, Prowled Their Circle Seeking Entry To
Run An Arctic Tongue Upon Her Vulva Where Rubies Smeared
To Alabaster Thighs Glittered Like A Contract In The
Purse Of A Whore Receiving Sole Communion From The
Body Of Christ "If Blood Is What Thou Carves,
Foul Fiend I Will Yield This Witch To Thee If
Thou Wouldst Draw A Veil For Me Over Lengthening
Scars Of Age And Grief" As The Demon Slavered
Foetid Vows And Bore His Prey Away In Talons Itching
To Perpetrate The Nausea Of Eternal Rape The Sorceress Screaming
In His Grasp Spat A Final Curse To Stain The
Countess With The Promise That Her Lord At War
Would Be Cruelly Slain And She Would Rot Alone Insane On The
Twisted Nails Of Faith
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