Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Whisper of the Hidden Sociopath

From the depths of Avīci, the Devil blew a wind.
Hades commented on it, he said it made him sin.
Within a prison of not eternal hell,
The Devil laughed a bit, He sang it in a stroll.

Fire did burn, and whisper upon the words.
One in a hundred, he or she was born quite free,
Nothing good about her, a predator after thee.
No good thoughts about her, killing makes her free.

And what is it to thee?
Her words seem quite a reprieve.
She sings of horrid anguish,
A world too mean to be.
She sings and weaves perfect lies,
A world that hates her and your hide,
Of her many troubles, and people who are not free.
And with her words, you find it,
You find your synchronicity.
For her tainted words, you'd give her every might.
Upon the altar of her lies, you'd give unto, even after life.

From the heights of the heavens,
The devil blew a wind.
A second saviour, just when you needed something different, now to see.
Fire did burn and whisper upon the words.
And to his song, you did lean.

Emotions, he has not,
Proto- the limiting of his reach.
Primeval thoughts do rule his scene.
He sings a song of love. A word he secretly delights to despise.
And your affection builds him up.
Besting others is his daily breath,
And his thoughts are nothing but the berserker's best.

Your love builds him up,
He holds you, a trophy, quite unnaturally high.
And he enjoys your destruction, as many times as time and will.
They say he murdered thee.

One in a hundred, one of many almost demons who walk this hallowed world,
They call it planet number three.
A mind quite different, chemicals not in balance,
He whispers into the ether.
And the devil delights as another and another joins him upon the nether sun.
And hell is filled with trusting souls, hell on earth, the darkest bowels.

The Whisper of the Sociopath, at first it makes him free,
Innocent of Conviction, he tells his lies to thee.
Fire did yearn, and whisper upon his words,
Then he made you free... of all that would make you flee.
A mere Whisper of the Sociopath,
He who hunts humans who were once quite free.
And staring down upon you, he sings his sad song to thee.
And glancing down upon him, see he has no empathy,
A predator pursuing you,
Death and Destruction, are his Daily Breath.
Believe not his secret lies,
Do not aid or assist him,
Perhaps then, in your humility, you will as yet be free.

The Whisper of the Sociopath, perfectly, it is crafted to deceive.
But seeing yourself fawn and faint,
Its influence upon what he sees as your soon dying corpse,
In humility, admitting his effect, that only his ilk can make tread.
How truly you are deceived,
Seeing yourself from outside, perhaps now, perhaps then, perhaps you might be free.

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