Bride of Decay
Oh death, how you dance upon my hand.
With brittle steps, you twist my fingers.
Your promise to bring peace to my heart is so enticing.
Oh, how bitter your words taste.
You are Eve’s apple, whispering promises to delight me.
To plant the seeds of self destruction in my heart.
You are sly, even more so than the serpent in the Garden of Eden.
But my heart is no beautiful garden.
It is a witch’s den, filled only with wilted hopes and fallen structures of peace.
I am the witch of envy: If I cannot have peace, then no one can.
I am the witch of greed: I desire all things beautiful, even if it ruins their value to others or even myself.
I am the witch of lust: I will take any form of love my parched lips can grasp, even if it is cloaked in falsehood.
I am the witch of vainglory: If no one will see my deeds, I will see them myself and cling to pride to spite others.
My will ignites the flame of rot that consumes me.
It corrodes my heart and reduces it to ash.
Oh, my beautifully mad bride, rot with me until I am nothing more than a memory.
To those who only knew the worst of me.
Written 17 March 2026 at 3:43 AM
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