The Traumatic - Deceased

Within her womb sits child fear starving joyous times

It knows no smiles nor happiness a life of doom awaits

A motherly instinct is to fend and guide a child’s soul

But in this woman illness reigns and terror it’s in control

The traumatic, pollution of the mind

Slain fornication mass produces seeds of tragedy

An all the while an anxious spell controls attentive minds

She taunts the children placing ghouls down deep behind their eyes

Force feeding darkness teaching them that life’s a place of fear

She keeps them buried underneath this precious world of light

As her face contorts her mouth upturns and creates the devils smile

The traumatic, pollution of the mind

Reclused and cruel her life goes on another victim grows

Her addiction to the dark, disturbed brings another pregnancy

The infant newborns unsnuggly settle into their creeping tombs

They’ll see no sun as the canvas paints a storming, raining doom

Seeing children doomed with fear is the greatest gift of all

Tears and panic in their eyes sees her grin from ear to ear

Torment womb a living cage she wills her illness she craves insane

Bringing monsters into their blood to creep and crawl and set the tone

Tearing, ripping spoon fed terror feeds them full

You must pray for these children, the traumatic!

Intrigued by the brooding, her serving life possessions

A twitching, burning, feeling in her mind

FEED THEM HORROR!!!

FEED THEM HORROR!!!

Reserved unto her children, this eternal dark obsession

A prize that goes to she who is deranged

Feed them horror!

FEED THEM HORROR

Feed them horror!

FEED THEM HORROR

Feed them horror!

Horror!!!

The created egg breaks its shell and the sample quickly grows

As its life is formed she reconstructs a cerebellum maze

Doom bludgeoned children freaked and stirred run screaming from their minds

As the devils feared from motherly ways laugh disturbingly at them all

The deranged grasp takes its hold life-crushed they won’t exist

Forever love and caring ways for them just never bloomed

A motherly instinct is to fend and guide her children’s soul

As her face contorts the devil comes and ends the childs life

It’s too late for the children, the traumatic…

…a dark cruelty