Macabre: A Madman's Lament

As night thundered dark and stormy, ocean waves crashed frothing, foamy,
how I wished she hadn't known me — I could go on just as before.
Just a myriad of victims, carefully I sought to pick them;
battered, bleeding, how I kicked them, thus, I stand upon this shore.
'She's not breathing,' I soon muttered, still, her eyelids batted, fluttered.
Not quite dead as thought before.

 
Ah, how clearly I remember it was deep in dark November
and each victim I would render helpless ghosts upon the floor.
Eagerly I longed to snuff them — grip their necks then slowly crush them,
careful, I knew not to rush them, letting nature take her course.
And all of this I took delight in, much of it without remorse.
Wrought with wretched lustful sin — nothing but a soulless corpse.
Not a man as once before.

 
Wistfully, I sat and pondered opportunities which I had squandered
as my mind slipped –— slowly wandered, wandered as it had before.
Still, I wished that I had known her long before I sought to own her,
yet her gods, they would not loan her precious seconds, life restored.
A lovely life which I deplored, I have but one and nothing more.
All I am I do abhor.

 
After killing her I struggled, deeply pained, my demons mumbled;
“Why is it you feel so troubled, troubled for the life you've claimed?”
I could not find the words to answer, how I wished just to romance her,
fiendishly my morbid dancer, pranced upon the river Styx.
Rat'ling bones, skeletal sticks — my mind was not an easy fix...
They weren't through with all their tricks.

 
I took her battered body broken, resurrection spells soon spoken,
a simple sacrificial token, token of undying faith.
I mixed reviving herbal potions demonstrating my devotions.
I beheld her hands in motion – grappling for my anguished flesh.
Her supple form still warm, so fresh, dark devilry, our souls soon meshed.
Awakening , barren, her soul bereft...

 
They'll find our bodies, think me mad, unworthy of the life I had,
some rancid passing foolish fad, a monstrous malignancy gone bad.
Beneath this earthen cellar floor, cadavers — they'll find many more;
hearts will break, heads will throb, my death to them will seem macabre.
Just another torture job...

 
Graveyard ghouls could not appease me — inhuman! — I'd grown so queasy,
it glared at me, my soul uneasy — loathing now what I had done.
Cacophonies of demons screaming as they plotted, surely scheming.
Hades glow now ghastly gleaming — lights the room in orangish hues.
I dare not run, what can I do, flames come soft, bright brilliant blues.
At last, my killing days are through.

 
“His hands — they did the devil's job
Oh,” they'll say, “it's so macabre!”