The sin within

By
Smiling about the sin
Yet dark evidence of the de*** swims within
Eyes beaming at our molten red fires flaming sternly
With giddy joy and distinct torture
I grip the rigid knife that reeks of freshly torn blood
We whisk are fingertips across a mire scuttle door
That clamps shut the forsaken fiery door
Without any slight emotion of contorted fright
My limbless body leaps into the molten
Fires of galore
Leading to the frantic death deep within the abyss





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