The Devil’s Face

It’s my poem of horrors if you simply read the words. But if you dig deeper, it’s not about the blood bath. It’s about showing the real face, which we tend to hide to give the fake appearance of looking happy & great. To me, it’s not a scary poem, it’s a sacred one – a different art form.

The desire to rip off the devilish face

Pump the blood out of the bloody arteries & veins

Need to burn the body in intense fire & flames

Slice the remains in sharp pieces & small scales

Cut the bones with saw, the sharp rotating chain

Everything collapses, no screams & there’s no pain

Cook the flesh in thick blood till it’s tender & changes its shade

Finding the demons that reside in haunted & crumbled shed

Hiding behind the intense & provocative lens

Made of complex geometries with that improperly proper base

This scene looks so scary from your narrow & twisted lane

There’s a fine line between your sane & my insane

Feel the heat, I’m not here to dig your grave

The gory imagination is an art of this devil, the creative brain

Just show the true you, that’s living behind your face

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