Literature
Lord of Gloom
Bitter sorrow crouched beside a fire,
His eyes shone orange, burning but minimalized.
Darkness surrounds in cleansing repose,
Sweet memories became bitter,
Like a Black Rose bequeathed at a funeral,
His rose was once red,
But filthy intention turned it dead.
Grand mustaches adorned his maw,
But his lack of honor left him raw.
He threw her into a well,
And therefore put his soul in hell.
He became cursed and well,
Became undead, quite a story to tell.
Looking into the tome,
His mustaches he combed,
And threw his brother's work into the fire.
Angered he progressed right off his chair,
he put his helmet upon his black hair;