Cenobite Poem by Paula Glynn

The cenobite walking the night,
No celebration to be had,
And no white light,
Cold to the core,
Love never to have,
Affection to ignore,
Human emotions to mock.

She likes to walk in the dark,
Roam the streets and the reservoir,
No ducks to quack,
Those memories never gone,
The evil of their actions to leave scars,
Remembering playing her guitar,
But no music lives here,
All roads lead to hell;
Lead to torture and fear,

The cenobite walking the night,
Plunging knives into backs,
No human thought,
Pain and suffering a sport,
For she likes to walk in the dark,
As if a spider on the hunt,
And she remembers the pain,
Her soul never free,
Her soul bound by bloody chains,

For the Chinese puzzle box,
Fills the rational with fear,
For it means the devil is here,
But her black heart,
The devil uses,
To teach lessons,
With every confession.

She lived a long life,
But one of pain,
And attacking others,
Status she does now gain,
But she does not feel pain,
And every criminal is the same;

Controlling, manipulative,
Greedy, cold at heart,
Aggressive, violent,
Mean, vicious,
Nasty and a bullying tease,
Those criminals now begging please,

For they have paid the price,
By her cenobite hand,
The road to glory,
And to God she does stand,
Pinhead's sidekick,
To move the crowd,
Her anger honest, direct,
And always said out loud,

No one to ever torture her again,
Hellraiser waiting to inflict the pain,
And after meeting her,
You'll never be the same.