Pray, throw open all the doors,

Since ages has he waited

Let him inside your home, your soul,

Till the seething storm has abated.

No longer can he knock, so weak

His breaths are running out

And calling, little louder than calm,

His whinings from without.

He knocks, he scratches, a woeful wretch

Demanding that you yield,

For don't you do, remorse and rue

Shall fill your flimsy reel.

And sit you there, on the dining chair

Mind hopelessly entangled

Finally, the bottomless pressure

Is too much for you to handle.

You walk slowly to the door and turn

The knob to the begging wreck

It clicks open, you feel certain

He'll be grateful for your help.

You throw open the door, and peek

Out; heart brimming with philanthropy

And expect a wrinkled, scarred stranger

Pitiful, ruined- but happy.

What you don't expect, from the faceless wreck,

Is a silver, shining blade

You can only watch, with naked shock

As he strips his masquerade.

Yea, strips his masquerade, o sigh!

And pulls his blade up front

He holds it, tip touching your chest

Eyeing his newest hunt.

And before you know, your slimy foe

Has done his dirty work

He holds the hilt, devoid of guilt-

You convulse in the hurt.

Oh, convulse in the hurt, not

The hurt that stained your flesh

The hurt that swallowed your insides

Was the hurt that gained success,

Over your kind spirit, and worked its way

Toward your beaten heart

Seeped into spaces, left fatal traces

And ripped your soul apart.

You fall just as he draws the knife

Scarlet slave trailing after;

And you wish your breaths would stop sooner

Wish your ears could shut out the laughter.

Laughter that makes your body boil

Laughter of cold contempt,

Laughter of disdain, of dripping pain

Laughter of a serpent.

And over he steps, your final breaths

With his mighty footfall quelling,

And turns to matters of more attention

Like looting your humble dwelling.

You watch through blood-obscured lenses

The last thing you behold

Is your piteous beggar emptying the safe

Of papers, Silver, Gold.

And as your final moments of pain

Threaten to turn to smoke,

You close your eyes, turn to the skies

And with all your spirit- hope.

Hope for one more borrowed moment-

Pray one more sigh to stay

And prior to dear Satan's descent

You mouth the word 'betray'.