Marquis de Sade
He wrote his scary fairy-tails
Accord to muses in wicked veils.
Moans,cries,pleases,screeches-
This dire music him bewitches.
In gloomy castle of desire
Who was his angel or vampire?
Jouliet,Joustine and Isabel...
His brougham on the way to Hell.
But manic fever was disturbed,
His dreadful dreams was grossly robbed.
In prison and in mental-house
He spent alone long heating hours.
But he continued to create,
They realised that it was late
To cure him from his odd mind.
They ordered him 'just' not to write.
And he just cut his own veins,
You wouldn't hear his complaints,
He wrote with his hot scarlet blood,
He signed 3 words: Marquis de Sade.
He wrote on the walls in paroxysm...
No glimmer,now no mysticism.
No crusifiction,no more prayers,
Just lonely muse in wicked veils.
He tailed away,but books remain-
It is so pleasant-to see the Pain...