Warmth of blood, a mere trickle,
Flood to oceans; crimson tide.

Wash my hands in copper tones,
Drink the fear deep from inside.

A symphony of tormented screams,
My sweetest lullaby,

Consume each unneeded breath,
Swallow each shrilly-uttered cry.

You tore from me my promised life,
Played me like a puppet in hand,

You'll rue the day you chose me,
But it'll be too late to understand.

Death is a gift too good for you,
So instead you'll scream,

Use your tongue before I tear it out,
Stealer of this young girl's dreams.

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 8th of Lleian, in the year 4 AC.