Master

The Collage is blurred, perhaps,
Eyes cannot see,
And, my words were slurred perhaps -
But, how can I let it be?
This is no spite I demonstrate,
Neither anguish, or pain. Nor "creed"
But, a fight for you to retaliate -
This is a punishment for all your deed.

So, bow to me, beg on my feet,
Cry for forgiveness, cry and plead,
And, with discretion, I will show you the way,
To never-ending dismay, where you'll sob and stay,
And, decay.

Apologize? I never do. But, I do have a prediction for you:
That you will suffer until the end and all the way through.
And, just as the obscurity we capitalize "I" with,
Upon dark nights, and the stabbing lights,
And every fear or frights
I "will" be there with you.
Just turn-a-round.