A Portrait in Portent

 

Our passions ever filled by the cruel fulfilment of primitive desire,

We bask in the glory of our own intellectual sadism,

Never perennial and lasting in its fleeting solace.

A new offering upon bloodied grandeur’s throne,

Presently to be proffered to my Valkyrie,

The individual a martyr to my void,

A sacrifice to her wanton macabre,

To suffer in extended bliss,

Subservient to my brush.

Stoic and bound in self,

Internally tormented,

Hapless against us,

Touched on canvas,

Immortalized.