Are you cursed, by the symbol, of the root of evil...
Or does it point a way, as if it's a compass needle?
Maybe, from the darkness, you can't disencumber
As you conjure the image, of that special, number
In those, macabre dreams, like a necrophiliac's bait
Do you feed your dark desires, do you cum, to sate?
Or maybe you transform, into a slasher, with talons
To eviscerate them, as the blood gushes in gallons
Do the salacious memories, leave you spent, or wet?
For that's not blood, you've smeared; no need to fret
But did the fire burn inside, was your ardour vicious...
Were the echoing screams, disturbing, or delicious?
Never fear, if on someone else's pain you've supped
As you're inarguably insane and corrosively, corrupt
But we'll keep this to ourselves and be forever mute
For evil's merely a hidden number, or its square root
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