Turn Off Your Lights

Brought into the world a dreaded mistake,
Brought down by the world to be only seen as the filth they walk upon,
A "miracle" for some,
Yet still a hell raiser,
A devil's spawn in many foreign eyes,
Even those that are flesh and blood,
Are still unknown,
Left a mystery.
Unlike the truth covered up by the still ashes covering what was said to have been lost, and supposedly found.
But never left the last place it laid to rest....
Unlike the shards of a Woman's heart that sacrificed much for just one girl's life.
Makes even the evil of all feel the depth of their stomachs,
At bay with sickness.

Lead to the Attic Doom
Never,
Treading such a path would only inquire such holiness that does not live in one,
Holier Than Thou,
Must not beseech.

Then lead one day to the Basement Of Hell
To only be comforted by the slithering vipers,
As well mutations of three headed breeds,
Will roam through the land of the dead,
The lost,
The forsaken,
And where I destine to be,
The mistakes.

Anything else in between is Purgatory's lot
From which I needless to stay long,
The waiting room will have many patients in line,
One I dare not wait.
My patience now runs thin.
My passion roams free,
For the lingering respect to indulge myself in the evils of vanquishing demons,
Much like one who made my life a living hell.
One that made it impossible to trust any male figure...
Any!

A Father,
That lied,
Decieved an expecting Mother,
Never she regret what he did.
Nor what he,
But the regret that truly lies is in her eyes,
One so much that she wish to never see such evil again.
And in doing so brought something into the world that is only a mere slave in the eyes of the people.
Used,
Stepped on.
Mocked!
Humility...
How gracious....

Needless to complain,
There is no effort in trying.
The more it continues, the more people will over look.
Never seeing the true pain in the eyes of a spawn,
Because they are afraid to look.
Afraid to stare.
Afraid to care.
Which with all due respect is fine.
Much needth less from the wounded,
Spineless,
And Lenora herself,
And the hobble hoy (Means "Lazy Boy" in Latin Btw)

Much isn't obliged,
Or taken for fault.
Nor the fault of others,
For glares,
Stares,
Emotional Abuse,
As well as Mental.

No cure for insanity,
Then more insanity.

Life for a mistake,
Sees only the wretched,
Swoon over the serpents much like the Father,
That either lives or lies in grave,
He was heartless in life,
Never showing care for his Daughters.

Once the Mother left,
Leaving behind her mark,
Her old life.
Brought then not too long after,
An infant that was destined for what they'll never know.
For what they never want to know.
Then the Mother brought another Daughter,
Years later.
The mistake,
Became the middle child by blood.
Even though was not by adoption.
Of the eldest.

Elder one,
Looks of the Father,
Middle,
Who always gets sucked into the realms of disaster first hand,
And last,
With fist fulls of hate,
With looks of the Mother,
But with the Father's eyes.
Demon's eyes...
Youngest.
Much like the Mother,
But much like her own Father.

What was brought,
Was left half full,
Or half empty?
Broken,
Useless and tattered.
And is destined for what they don't know,
Won't kill them.
Or will the unknown very much, kill them?
Or even, destroy them?