She beats endless, as an undead thing does
Pieces sewn together, barely does she work
But works she nonetheless, as an undead thing does
He squirms restless, twisting in fractures
He recalls proper days, not these pathetic excuses
But goes he onwards, collecting twists and fractures
He loathes her, that sick undead thing
Never tires, not one piece of hers
He yields another day, it ticks not forever
She knows he broods to be cut and dismantled
His wounds fatal, has days and numbers
But on she goes, her pieces know no reasons
He asks oh Agony, Do I deserve you dear?
His knives hover her threads. You bluff? She sneers
Unfortunate her, undead knows no fear
Frankenstein’s Monster, no argument here
But he remains Monster’s, mine, to commandeer
Knife over her, the heart, maybe today, maybe never
Maybe finally