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Literature Text
The Sadist:
I love it most when they scream in pain;
Cliched as that might sound.
Their tearful pleading exhilarates me;
Especially when they are unbound...
I adore the feeling of letting them run
In the knowledge that they won't get away.
I'm afraid that once you enter my lair;
You are simply here to stay...
My greatest joy is in wresting confessions
For in pain they admit to any crime.
How many times have they renounced their devils
Squealing all the time...
A white hot poker, can work such wonders
The tightest of tongues will turn to slack.
I like to hold it against their flesh;
Until it blisters, chars and goes utterly black...
The smell of flesh that has been branded by iron
Is purer than the air in the highest of peaks.
The kind of refreshment I need to find;
Is something obtained from the weak...
My favourite victims are the witchling girls;
For they are used to calling on magic.
Take that away they are but mewling kittens;
A fate which is rather tragic...
The softness of their tender skin
Is always enjoyed as I removed their fingers.
At first they are firm and hard to break;
But I know the fear that lingers...
They call to their deities and cry for their sisters
But in this place their prayers will count for naught.
Even the men of the cloth, so bold and faithful
Would be simply left to rot...
"In this place, I am a God and your life is merely a toy I intend to break..."
-Chen Yuan Wen, 5th May 2012
I love it most when they scream in pain;
Cliched as that might sound.
Their tearful pleading exhilarates me;
Especially when they are unbound...
I adore the feeling of letting them run
In the knowledge that they won't get away.
I'm afraid that once you enter my lair;
You are simply here to stay...
My greatest joy is in wresting confessions
For in pain they admit to any crime.
How many times have they renounced their devils
Squealing all the time...
A white hot poker, can work such wonders
The tightest of tongues will turn to slack.
I like to hold it against their flesh;
Until it blisters, chars and goes utterly black...
The smell of flesh that has been branded by iron
Is purer than the air in the highest of peaks.
The kind of refreshment I need to find;
Is something obtained from the weak...
My favourite victims are the witchling girls;
For they are used to calling on magic.
Take that away they are but mewling kittens;
A fate which is rather tragic...
The softness of their tender skin
Is always enjoyed as I removed their fingers.
At first they are firm and hard to break;
But I know the fear that lingers...
They call to their deities and cry for their sisters
But in this place their prayers will count for naught.
Even the men of the cloth, so bold and faithful
Would be simply left to rot...
"In this place, I am a God and your life is merely a toy I intend to break..."
-Chen Yuan Wen, 5th May 2012
Literature
Suicidal
Blood flows from our wrists,
Making our hands turn into fists.
We only feel the pain and sorrow,
Have we given up hope for a better tomorrow?
The rope is hanging from the ceiling,
Helping us end that miserable feeling.
The pills are scattered across the floor,
Maybe we need to swallow just one more?
Others might refuse to see the cruelty of life,
While others try to end it by the knife.
Trying to get out of this cruel dream,
Sometimes all we can do is scream.
There are others like you out there,
You might not yet know where.
But they try to overcome it,
That's something not all will admit.
Every one of us needs a helping hand,
Literature
i am the abused
I am the kicked.
I am the punched.
I am the stabbed.
I am the healed.
I am the victim.
I am the savior.
I am the demon.
I am the angel.
I am the injured.
I am the scarred.
I am the pure.
I am the dark.
I am the light.
I am the broken.
I am the mute.
I am the blind.
I am the disabled.
I am the deaf.
I am the lie.
I am the truth.
I am the glutton.
I am the lust.
I am the greed.
I am the envy.
I am the wrath.
I am the sloth.
I am the pride.
I am the void.
We are the victims.
We are the abused.
We are the unseen.
We are the unheard.
We are the forgotten.
We are the used.
We are the unimportant.
We are the invisi
Literature
I'm Not the Marrying Kind
I'm not the marrying kind.
I have stones in my hair instead of flowers,
And a rosebush of thorns is more poignant to me.
I'm not the marrying kind.
My words aren't pretty or wise,
And I can't sing about anything but a broken heart.
I'm not the marrying kind.
I am the sort of damaged you see in an old recorder,
And the kind of old in an instrument that breaks into a billion pieces at a touch.
I'm not the marrying kind.
Neither neat, nor tidy, nor correct in my behavior,
And yes, I did in fact tell you to fuck yourself.
I'm not the marrying kind.R
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AUTHOR'S COMMENT:
This is the third release of Witch Hunter Week and I've decided to move into ABSOLUTE sadism, so I wrote this from the point of a confessor/torturer often employed by the church to ensure that the victims confessed.
Usually they would use the rack or remove fingers, branding the wounds with iron and inflicting other harsh punishments. In order to maintain a semblance of sanity I used the softer tortures (yes this is soft) and worked with the rhyme scheme to make it more...readably psychotic as opposed to outright destruction .
Enjoy yourselves ^^
-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates
OTHER POEMS BY ME:
Hunting the Witch - [link]
The Witch Hunter - [link]
A World of Blood - [link]
Swan Song - [link]
The Secret Garden - [link]
What is Love? - [link]
OTHER LITERATURE BY ME:
SANGUINE Chapter 1 - 1 - [link]
This is the third release of Witch Hunter Week and I've decided to move into ABSOLUTE sadism, so I wrote this from the point of a confessor/torturer often employed by the church to ensure that the victims confessed.
Usually they would use the rack or remove fingers, branding the wounds with iron and inflicting other harsh punishments. In order to maintain a semblance of sanity I used the softer tortures (yes this is soft) and worked with the rhyme scheme to make it more...readably psychotic as opposed to outright destruction .
Enjoy yourselves ^^
-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates
OTHER POEMS BY ME:
Hunting the Witch - [link]
The Witch Hunter - [link]
A World of Blood - [link]
Swan Song - [link]
The Secret Garden - [link]
What is Love? - [link]
OTHER LITERATURE BY ME:
SANGUINE Chapter 1 - 1 - [link]
© 2012 - 2024 WordOfChen
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Thank you for reminding me that heated metal exsist. So simple, so leathal.