Sisters of Ruin; Singing The Darkanthem

By Yasmin Parveen

Nightshade blooms in the shadows,

Hope for a shining tomorrow.

Her berries glisten, whispering promises

Of delicate and sweet nothings—

It’s almost a sin to taste her.

Touching me to your skin

Screams promises of evil.

When I’m in, you are gone—

Only one can reign, either you or I,

And I always seek conquest.

You will be the catcher in the rye.

You are the chess piece that’ll fall,

And you will be at fault—

You cannot deny.

Fatal and fragile Aconite—

Radiant, colorful, saccharine,

I dwell in a garden where shadows weave,

Reaping silent grief.

I’m Monkshood, I stand with tendrils stretching,

Laced with venom, ready for a breath to seize.

To say the least, don’t seek me,

For I’m always ready.

We, the seductresses of the devil’s den,

We, the marks of looming terror,

The epitome of beauty,

Leaving you pale and thrashing.

We are sisters of ruin,

Fatal and ethereal,

We are princesses of the Darkanthem Kingdom,

A kingdom of beauty and ruin.

We dark knights dance under the golden sun,

Scattering fragrance, causing chaos,

And raising hell.

You come, you die.

I’m the interminable scheme of a façade that gleams,

A charade of beauty holding malignance, a malice behind.

Marked with a litany of deaths,

Following centuries upon centuries,

I’m Jimsonweed, not sorry for the twist.

Petals, a texture of velvet and sin—

Put me in a vase when you need my charm.

Put me in a glass diluted with something,

And I won’t hesitate to be the reason

For someone’s untimely demise.

You cannot keep from my deathly vice,

My dark allure,

Ricochet in every inch of my existence,

Every slice.

I’m one of the sisters of ruin,

I’m the lily of the valley,

I myself am the notorious reason

For Darkanthem’s thriving season—so let me smile.

I’m the ambiance of beauty,

I’m my own beast,

I speak the language of “cease,”

Revising the verses of my sentences with precision,

And carrying a promise of a slow, painful ending.

I belong to the dark depths of insanity.

You can call me a profanity,

But all I will ever be admired for

Is bringing death with deathly beauty.

Be it Aconite or Belladonna,

Jimsonweed or Foxglove,

Our purpose is alike—

We promise nothing but sinister lies.

We are sisters of ruin,

We kill and smile,

We kill with beauty and a fatal final line.

“We are sisters of ruin”

Reigning chaos,

And we are always in bloom.

By Yasmin Parveen