His Rapture of Rigor Mortis

His macabre mental messages of mortality’s mayhem
can’t wait to be sent only when one sleeps,
for the caustic cerebral collage he causes
inspires crippling cranial consequences
through his poignant panoply of phenomena
possessed of every from in fear’s phantoms,
just conjured for the sake
of pleasuring his melancholy persuasions.

Into the night he’ll lure so many minds
to whisper the specters of phobias and serpents of terror
who slither inside the veins to steal any peace,
left so shaken by those visions
that even when fatal fate is still decades away
within the crippling anxiety covers the heart with panic.

It’s all the subtle black charms of his dark passions
used to shudder those in tranquil times
so they see and imagine their demise,
shudder from his wicked thrill of creating morbid thoughts
and long before the coffin lid closes
some part of each life is spent
gets dipped in death’s ashen oil of hellish dreams,
because he sucks on those tremors to the nerves
like a nectar to appease his thirst for knowing
no one passes through this life
without some visit from his fingers
who massage into the marrow the worry of passing.

This is all just a foretaste of future meets
where he delights in each time
the vipers of his bedeviling caress
bewitch in sadistic wiles to summon a scream.

What he celebrates is the past time of painting
another layer of fret on every life he can molest
as his prelude to greeting them after the last breath
when he savors the rapture of rigor mortis.