Autopsy Of The Devil's Brain.

Hello beautiful people.

       This is the 3rd installment of the poems (The Master Of His Death, Until We Are Ghosts) .
So what happens when the dead husband keeps tormenting his wife (The woman who burnt him alive on purpose?) He loved her. He really did, but he couldn’t stop abusing her. He hit her once,then it went on and on. She had to kill him. She didn’t feel safe. She burnt him alive. She wanted him to know how he’s made her feel. So now he’s dead, and he wouldn’t let her be. What then happens? How will she get an Autopsy of the Devil’s Brain? Don't forget to follow me on Twitter to get Instant alerts on new post!! Enjoy.



                                        AUTOPSY OF THE DEVIL'S BRAIN.

I’m trying to sleep, won’t you leave me alone?

I can feel the cold chill from your aged, rotting bones.

The sensation smothers me and I open my eyes, to glare at you, whom I despise.

From the dresser I grab a glinting blade.

My eyes downcast, like the battered old shades.

The candlelight flickers and floorboards groan.

Why can’t the dead leave the living alone?

You stare at me with gaping eye sockets, one tooth wiggling in dismay.

You won’t leave and you’re too dead for mortal pain.

So I’ll hurt myself.

I drag the blade across my already scarred wrist.

Crimson blood rises like sunset’s kiss on the waves.

Your dry skin bags together as you cringe, scooting away.

Another laceration and I don’t even flinch.

But your bloodcurdling screams are louder than hell’s demons.

My pain doesn’t feel so good, yet it doth amuse you

 

Touche, dead soul, checkmate!

 

As you fall from the window, escaping frantically

My blood still falls, staining the bedsheets

Upon it I lay, closing weary eyes

Having rid myself of all I despise.