The crimson petals of the past,

remind me of the colour of your lips,

the rain of your weeping.

 

Never did you listen,

when the angels warned you of my curse,

all I touched went toxic,

withered,

turned to ashes.

 

My love,

not ever did I adore you as you did of me,

did you not see that we could never be?

 

A being of such purity and radiance such as you, 

would be easily tainted from all the blood that drips from my hands too,

for Lucifer is my master and I his son.

 

Purgatory my constant companion,

Since that day,

when you wept diamonds in vast hopes

I would hand you my torn heart.

 

Emerge did Abbadon,

with the thunderous howls of the forgotten,

at his wake.

 

My grievous fault,

for I only buried my knife in deeper with my words.

 

Often do I ponder,

why did the angels not save you?

Did I leave stains of my malovelence 

on your purity?

 

Misguided,

betrayed were you,

for you must have known I was bound by blood,

alas I could not have saved you.

 

Trust me my love,

when I say there was no other way,

I was being merciful,

for I loved you in my own twisted way.

 

He gave me a choice,

either you were his to make suffer,

or mine to sing to sleep.

 

So I sung you to sleep with my blade,

your amber eyes closed forever more,

is all I see to this day.

 

Never had you looked so fine,

as you did then,

your hair spilling like ink,

in every direction.

Skin as pale as snow,

scarlet soaking your dress,

your wings.

 

Only then did I weep diamonds,

and hand you my torn heart,

still I do every witching hour.