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Dedman’s Morbid Mausoleum of Dark Poetry: The Love of Death’s Ressurection (Original Work, Exclusively Published on Morbidly Beautiful)

Fair is Her beauty as She sways to and fro in her funeral gown, a steady march towards my tomb,

Silky and onyx black as it shines in the moonlight, euphoriant with no shades of gloom;


A Goddess content with punctual manner, knowledge of my resurrection by Her will and hand,

All had been set in motion eons ago, necromantic initiatives choreographed and planned;


Even in my earthen grave I hear Her approach and the scrape of nails upon my grave’s marker,

Dead flesh begins to tingle in anticipation of supplication and yet my soul grows darker;


I hear the shovel bite into the cold dirt of my grave, the worms shriek as they are uncovered in mass,

The fetid smell of my corpse is but a sweet perfume to Her, exquisitely pungent but never too crass;


At last I am uncovered and visible, ragged yet rugged, a sight longed for and desired,

Her dark magic works its bounty, warm blood spatter from a knife, an unholy offering required;


Flesh builds along my frame as organs and fluids return to a husk long since thought forgotten,

She smiles with grim satisfaction as She places my heart back into it cavity with splendor so rotten;


The haunting commands echo from lips cold yet inviting, forcing me to rise to fulfill my contract,

Undying, unending servitude and love for my Lilith makes this an easy and desirable pact…


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