Category: satan

Blood tinged forgotten fun with the glorious Beezlebub.

Spare me the history making class.

This is history in the palms of my hand.

Writing itself in the blood of my sins,

smeared across the empty page.

There’s no reason for the rose hue tint,

let’s not glorify the facts.

Let us speak with a double edged sharpness,

free ourselves from the grappling hands of a fucked up society.

Stop listening to the screams of the fallen.

Let them become the echoed stepping stone of reality.

Their sweat dirtied with the mud of indecision and regret.

Guilt etched into every breath they take.

The stench rising from their mangled bodies.

Breathe in death,

let the those floaters become you,

swimming in your lungs as your heart pumps.

Death, life, death, life.

The constant beating of fear.

Close your eyes feel that darkness.

Know in your soul that Satan too is an angel of God,

carrying out the work of him almighty.

So I sin in the name of the Devil

as he drags me down into the depths of hell

glaring deep into my soul,

he searches but cannot find,

for I am broken, but I am found.

The only blood upon my skin is self made luminous sin,

tainted in the beholders eye .

Let’s not dirty with the sweat and tears of a foxes tongue

the beauty of our blood tinged forgotten fun.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

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Jason’s coming for you.

Covered in blood I search for the light

as my dreams come alive in the dead of the night.

I feel his sharp nails as he claws at my skin

the veil between sleep is so very thin.

But Fred’s not alone, Jason’s, there too,

and I know in an instant my nightmares are true.

There’s no where to hide there’s no where to go,

covered in blood it’s a dream, oh I know.

But the nails are real, and Jason still comes,

and i’m losing my life as I try to out run.

A small little nick on my porcelain skin,

Freddy is dancing as the knife slips in.

They laugh as they pull gut after limb,

Tearing it out, pushing it in.

An ebbing death for fear to bring.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

Satan’s Pleasures.

Your God says I am damned to hell.
It happened the moment my halo fell.
Down on my knees with cum on my face
sinfully tempted by the devils taste.
Your God says passion is sin,
as I lay on my bed and ask if it’s in.
With fingers that touch and awaken the soul,
such a shame these are things that you’ll never know.
Your God says the body is shame.
I wonder does God watch as I touch where you came,
as he damns all of those that blaspheme his name,
a portal for the devil to lift God into fame.
Your God says don’t give into lust,
but the pleasures it brings is just such a rush,
I’m down on my knees, take it I must,
’tis the pleasures of life that I really do trust.

©Karen Hayward 2015.

The Devil and His Flute

The sun may warm my soul

for a few minutes each day,

then darkness always

follows wanting out to play.

The moon may cleanse

my broken aura,

as the devil follows calmly

dragging his Pandora and

the stars will map out my route

yet still I dance to the sound of his flute.

Tales of the deviled soul.

Horns and a devils tail,

a promising tale,

of the ship that set sail

in a sea full of scales.

Not swallowed by a whale

neither white nor pale,

and they left no trail,

no where to send mail,

their lives for sale,

but they did have a tail

of the devils horns

and his little red tail.

Succubus.

Darkness.
No moon to light the way.
No stars to illuminate my play.
Darkness.
As the wind howls,
Through broken trees,
And battered paths
As natures leaves
remove the scarf.
Darkness.
Seeping through my skin,
Encouraging, enticing, engagement in sin.
Burning deep desire within
Letting the spirit of succubus in.