The Toad-Wizard

The Black Wizard, drunk with the wine of his own immorality having murdered his own wife, as the final self-inflicted searing branding-iron of wickedness on his ruthless heart, walked in a drunken stupor of numbness, having killed the 3-month old baby with her paradisian beauty-goddess mother, the Witch-creep now forever trapped himself in the dungeons of denial.

Never to see the light again darkness-gorging anti-light took a hallucinatory walk in a forever fog-tarnished yet materialistically sunny noon forest.

The worms of time now crawling him towards inevitable death, the abuse-adoring prince-boy marched forward enflamed by renewed lust for immortality. 

Having gone into the looney-bin with his moon-seeking lunatic-manifesting idiocy, bewildered terror-lord went to the forest in search of the final ingredient.


Adoring power, he looked with tears of his heart at the top end of the pyramid, wishing to defile the top, sitting on his bottom, phallic Pharaoh-drone salivated with dreams of more & more.

Deep into the skeleton forest Malvic crept. Bone chilling darkness of his neu-found demonic rank, was making himself nervous. A few times, during his breaks, he even caught himself avoiding looking into his favorite crystal ball.

This beautiful & grand crystal ball was one of the newer models creeping with delicious creepiness into the witch’s bazaars.

Because of the kind of glass, living in a mirror-less soulless world, the mirror-craving power-whore opened the narcissus of his feeble heart, to the reflection of the neu-bazaar crystal.

Intoxicated by his own beauty & power, the dark prince approached the toad-cave of GOR.


Regal Malv, the Magnificent Malevolent Man Masterful Made More Maleficent Meagrely Modest-less Murderous Moor of Moonless Months, sat truthfully terror-fully tearfully torn tearing tore teetheringly tackling timeless tasks, searching seekishly seldom sought secrets.

And now, the forever-nighted knight entered his hand to obtain a toad from the dark swamp hole-below.

His masterly long fingers glowed under the moonless sunny dark skies. The handsome boyish charm-lord had the strength of lightning at the tip of his finger, as his craving heart drew closer to his potion’s brew.


The ancient Toad-motheress, sat patiently in her regal home, awaiting for 37-years for the fingers of the witch-whore; the universe upheld supreme justice, filled to the brim with the wrath & fury of the Light, awaiting blindly to bring justice with one perfect bite.

O death sing to us a new song
The master descending to slavehood
Will forever abide, chained & ripped
Like foolish tokes from a bong

The trippy psycho femme-fataless had heard the crunching stealth-free murder-boy.

Finger reaching in slow motion, the skinny index finger of Wiz-King, wrapped with a gentle leather-cord, dawned within the hole of the whore-mama Toadess. 

Blocking the sun with its giant mass, universe-trained perfect for the job arrow-toad used her night-sight to seek perfectly the point of strike.

Looking with the sharpness of the divine, the skipping swamp-queen beheld a magnificent blister on the finger of our clueless child-clearing lord. 

The timeless blister, planted timefully at the hand of his betrayed wifess, opened a gateway to eternal doom of the unimmortable immortality-deceived grand papa.

Master toad, like a spiritual erotic stripper, laid her soul bare to the openness of the closed home; stretching her anatomy for the motherly bite, the gentle-poison readied itself to do its marvelous dose.

In the weak spot of the blister, the waiting wait-free weighty frog of the Light, repaid the pointing & blaming core of the hiding anathema-boy.

Zapped with a giant zap, his finger withdrew creating a gap; the now poison-free forever fulfilled messengeress, jumped headlong into the pond, to end the flame of the beautiful seductress.

Having seduced the deceitful bully-boy, the frog rested her spirit, being merged back into the Light.

Falling back slowly & ripping screams of agony, the bony ex-perfect serial killer wiz, wallowed slowly in his misery.

Skeleton-hands emerging from the swamp, fastened to every part of his bum, dragging to death the stinky Narcizzard, forever chaining him to his own dark-self, descending spirally negative below, death became his final witch’s brew. 


By Ashkan Jafarpisheh – June 2020

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