The Lady Massacre

“Run, little darling, run from the light. I’ll find you screaming deep in the night. Hide in the cellar, hide if you dare, no one escapes Lady Massacre.” tw: violent, bloody

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She smiles beneath the bloody glow

where wounded strangers beg to go.

With golden curls and eyes so bright

she dances through the screams at night.

Her laughter rings, both sweet and wild

a devil dressed in lace and guile.

She blows a kiss, then draws the knife

and giggles as she takes a life.

She paints the walls in dripping red

then crowns herself among the dead.

She twirls beneath the crimson light

and grins at every broken sight.

She sings while madness fills the room

then waltzes laughing through the gloom.

She drags them laughing by the hair

and whispers, “Pretty, never fear.”

She bends so close they feel her breath

then smiles and whispers them to death.

She keeps their teeth in velvet bags

their finger nails on bloody tags.

She names each corpse and combs its hair

then place them in a row of chairs.

“Now clap for me,” she laughing cries

while candle flames reflect their eyes.

She screams when no hands clap at all

as her fingers scratch the wall.

She plays a game of hide and seek

And counts while dying floorboards creak.

“Ten, nine, eight, you’d better run…”

she starts to shoot before she’s done.

Her heels click softly down the hall

she hears the frightened breathing stall.

Then through the dark her singing drifts:

“I always find my little gifts.”

She nails the door and kills the light

then hunts them laughing through the night.

She hears them screaming in the gloom

and answers, “No one leaves this room.”

She swings the hammer, slow and sweet

while blood runs warm beneath her feet.

She hums as bones begin to break

and smiles at every sound they make.

She drags the last one to her chair

and ends it quick without a care.

Then ties a bow around the blade

and leaves it in the wound she made.

At dawn she washes every blade

and fixes up the mess she made.

She powders pale her smiling face

and leaves no hair, no blood, no trace.

So when you drive alone at night

and crazed laughter kills the quiet.

Don’t trust the girl with golden hair

you could meet the Lady Massacre.

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