あくのｈｓな

By the command of Psycho Ken from Yokeshire, She Jinn arose in this choked-up empire, World tight like a noose loop, spite’s the supplier, His ha-ha’s vile, a joker’s ghost croaked through fire. He flexed fists at the heavens, their pity a fraud, Like they’re mocking her struggles with a ditty and nod. “Why the scourge of this laughter? It’s gritty and odd— I’d trade it for a viper’s cut that’d split me from God.” Hack the night; the cursed eve birthed my plight, Where love’s mask cracked, and left mirth contrite. Womb filled with atonement’s blight, I’m consumed, Doomed by a pleasure that tethered my sight to the tomb. The gods chose me, they bestowed me a test, To cradle the grotesque, a festering jest. This hat-sick fool’s beast, a hex manifest, Should be cast in the flames where regrets coalesce. The gods chose me, they bestowed me a test, To cradle the grotesque, a festering jest. This hat-sick fool’s beast, a hex manifest, Should be cast in the flames where regrets coalesce. Letters burn like the bridges I never could cross, Ashes mixed with the venom of inevitable loss. Every flick of the pyre, every ember embossed, In the cursed geometry, symmetry’s cost. So I summon nick-shame, like a blade unsheathed, Cut through ha-ha’s curse till its roots can’t breathe. Branches twisted, their laughter diseased, Hack ‘em down so the buds die before they’re unleashed. She swallowed the froth of hate, a venomous brew, It carved a path through her veins, every sinew it chewed. Unaware of the scheme, eternal gears skewed, A pawn in a plot where despair’s the residue. Gehenna’s depths beckoned, the pyre’s design, A furnace for crimes traced through ancestral lines. Her mother’s regret now enshrined in the grind, Of flames that erase even gods from the mind. Every spark was a scream, every ember a curse, Each flicker a hymn for the pain she dispersed. Her hands built the blaze, though her spirit was first, To burn in the blaze where her torment rehearsed. Through the blaze, she saw faces—mocking, untrue, Twisted grins of the gods that her agony drew. Their laughter rippled, a pitiless view, Like puppets dangling strings on the broken and bruised. With a scream that shattered the abyssal black, She hurled her fury, and the gods hurled back. A pyre of defiance where the heavens cracked, Her curse now a weapon, her grief an attack. “I won’t cradle your sins, won’t nurture your shame, Let these flames burn the weight of your cowardly blame!” As the fire devoured, she whispered their name, Then faded—a martyr in their merciless game. Born in the blaze where the cursed reside, Every laugh is a lash, every tear’s a tide. No gods to absolve, just the flames to confide, In the pyre of defiance where the broken collide. They chose my pain, I chose the fire, Fueling the wrath of a world’s desire. From ashes to embers, the truth transpires, A martyr’s scream, rising higher and higher. They chose my pain, I chose the fire, Fueling the wrath of a world’s desire. From ashes to embers, the truth transpires, A martyr’s scream, rising higher and higher. and higher, and higher, and higher,and higher,