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. 

THE END

By Ashkan Jafarpisheh – June 2020

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