The Poisoner's Psalm

The grimoire's middle chapters are recipes. Not for bread. Not for medicine. For poisons that grow only in Thornwood's soil. Where nothing natural has grown for two hundred years. Recipe One: "The Betrayer's Draught" Take the root of the thorn that laughs When you water it with tears instead of rain Mix with ash from a promise that was slain Grind the petals of the flower that only blooms On the anniversary of occupied tombs Add three drops of the dew that collects On mirrors that reflect what the viewer rejects Simmer in a vessel made of bone Stir counter-clockwise — always alone The poison, when complete, tastes like trust Administer to those whose loyalty is dust Recipe Two: "The Sleeper's Wine" Nightshade crossed with Thornwood vine The berries that grow where the ravens nest Crush them gently against your chest Add the pollen from the midnight bloom The flower that only opens in a sealed room One drop in any drink — the sleeper falls Into dreams of the manor's endless halls Every poison is a psalm Every toxin is a balm For the ones who've been too long awake Every poison's just a mercy for the mercy's sake Thornwood gardens grow the cure For the disease of being pure Drink deep from the poisoned well Every heaven needs its hell Recipe Three: "Veritas Extract" — the truth serum One dose and they'll confess — you'll hear 'em Speak every sin since the day they were born The ingredients: three drops from a Thornwood thorn Mixed with the tears of the portrait gallery The ones that cry real tears — involuntarily Add rust scraped from the thirteenth key The one that opens what you shouldn't see Recipe Four: "The Madness Bloom" This one fills any room with doom Dried petals from the carnivorous rose The one that has teeth where the stamen grows Ground with the dust from the oldest wall Mixed with echoes from the entrance hall Inhaled, not drunk — it takes the mind And leaves it somewhere logic can't find Every poison is a psalm Every toxin is a balm For the ones who've been too long awake Every poison's just a mercy for the mercy's sake Thornwood gardens grow the cure For the disease of being pure Drink deep from the poisoned well Every heaven needs its hell Recipe Five... The grimoire calls it simply: "End." No ingredients are listed No instructions are given Just a single note in my grandmother's hand: "Pick any flower from the Thornwood garden. Any flower. They are ALL Recipe Five. They have been for generations. The garden doesn't grow medicine or poison. It grows ENDINGS. Every petal is a period at the end of someone's sentence. Every thorn is a final word." So I tend this garden now I water it with what the grimoire shows me how I prune the thorns that grow between my ribs I harvest what my own body gives I AM the garden I AM the poison I AM the recipe I AM the chosen Pharmacist of the Thornwood estate Every psalm I sing decides your fate Every poison is a psalm (Recipe of the damned) Every toxin is a balm (Measured by these hands) For the ones who've been too long awake (SLEEP) Every poison's just a mercy (MERCY) for the mercy's sake Thornwood gardens grow the cure (The cure is death) For the disease of being pure (Purity is weakness) Drink deep from the poisoned well (Drink DEEP) Every heaven needs its hell (Welcome to mine)