Horror Icons

Let me tell a tale of terror
About the queen knife barer.
There was never a queen fairer,
Once you stepped inside that insidious lair.
This story isn’t built of lies,
But of children’s demise,
For at the hands of horror,
Only the weak may torture…
So hear this story
Of this kid named Corey,
Who was chained to the ground,
With sewn up lips to eradicate sound.
Deep in the sewer,
He received the grand tour-
Down a killer’s path,
He learned the mutilator’s wrath.
Sickle in hand,
a murder so grand,
Sliced from pelvis to throat.
Bled for the goat.
Sewer water becomes red
Little Corey becomes dead,
Unchained
Maimed
Thrown into the zombie pit,
And that was it.
Corey died at the hands of an icon.

Horror Icons for the next century-
fresh escaped from the penitentiary
All to pursue new victims amass-
Time tells murder to last-
Much longer than the past-
Icons killing incredibly fast-

Billy got my vote-
Next into the moat,
With bomb down the throat-
and he better hope he floats,
But either way the demon atop gloats.
Fifteen pounds sink you to the ground,
Liquid inhibits all sound as you drown
Blood teeming inside you so there’s no use screaming-
Oxygen leaves, water starts teeming-
No hope left besides you as air escapes-
Quick and try an intake,
The air is fake-
Mixed with hydrogen
It’s like a bio-gym,
But he’s stuck
Like a truck
Poor billy,
He went silly-
Left nothing but a carcass, so mark this
Twenty three dead,
don’t be misled-
Don’t you see?
It was all me,
the destroyer,
the icon of horror,
hiding out in the foyer-
Biding my time until you show your back,
unready for the attack
That lands you in a sack.
Number twenty four.
A number to abhor and adore -
Let faith soar,
For your soul’s no more.

There was one too young,
But knew his day-
A life gone astray,
And it will continue this way.
He decided to make himself pay,
Poor Robby was just a young boy.
The noose had become his favorite toy,
Hanging all lifeless in the bathroom.
His sister in the other room,
Unaware of his impending doom.
Life cut out,
With little other than a shout,
Or maybe just a mere pout.
A death of ecstasy,
With death standing next to me.
Don’t you see?
I’m no killer,
I died years ago,
But I only let the noose know.