311th Post

Hands.
Stained with blood.

Mind.
Filled with shatter and hate.

Soul.
Trapped in a shell.

Misery.
Is all i feel now.

Oh how my hate for the living.
Grows little by little.

For that reason.
A pact made with the devil.
To be his minion.
Until the end of time.

Living only to feed exclusively on the blood of the living.
Condemned to an existence amongst the shadows.
Never knowing the light.

Harbingers of death.
With faces of angels.
Skins of preternatural shade.

With souls condemned to go neither heaven nor hell.
Should we choose self-immolation.

Silent witness of the centuries.
Until driven mad by time and misery.