Untitled

Child of bane,
From Hell she came.
Of Satanic claim,
She does appertain.

All that remains
Of past pains,
Is tiresome chains.

Grain by grain,
They do drain.
Their power plain,
Overbearing as the rain.

Yet she strains,
Her attempts in vain,
To flee the domain
Of her constrain.

She falls and feigns,
Her footing, she regains.
But her hope is slain.

What she can't explain,
Boils her veins.
Blood bubbles profane,
And it stays restrained,
Until it pops like champaign.