Born: March 19th, 1976
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Iracundia (Wrath)
This raging raven, of a namesake coincidentally
similar to the Dark of a Beast, burned to break
the face of her eternal antagonist, Domingo.
Her twisted psyche, like that of the plastic flamingo
she snapped the neck of, on her way wicked
walk towards the Dominican’s Republic ticked
and shattered along the streets of Piersdale
broken by hopes and loves that were impaled
by a sense of suffering at the hands of a political
promise that betrayed Stacy’s desire for evolutional
human transcendence, but all she saw was Dark
and Ms Childs allegiance to the Boy was parked
in lot of delusions and decadent dances measured
in gutted angels burnt, charred and weathered.
Stacy dashed into Santo Domingo’s place
saw the little twit and expected to give chase
but in his eyes, all she saw was serenity and peace.
Her arrival stirred nothing in him and her anger increased!
“Get up and fear me, bitch!” she razed at Santo,
“Taste my retribution and violent dialogue, moral whore!”
Dom looked at Dame Dervish with sympathy and declared,
“Well, Ms Overdramatic speaking person with a flare
for unneeded cursing and lack of knocking skills,
I prefer not the taste of hate that takes away my will
to measure life with the right amount of perspective
and my patience will overtake your murderous directive
in time. But understand this: your weak ass victory this time
will in the future, wilt away like your anger and the crimes
you commit in the name of your hallucinogenic warlord
will tear into your spirit in regret and ask to fall upon the sword
you’ll forge in the melancholy mills of man’s transgression.”
Sadly, this speech did not stop Stacy’s rising aggression
as she proceeded to tear into Mr. Tom with her fists
and his deference of defense wore out her wrists
as she screamed in…
Dragging the beaten angel to her master’s lair,
the frustrated female’s focus on society’s despair
invoked a tinge of sympathy towards the Dominican.
How hard must it be to have that level of patience
in a world of inconsistency where justice is facile
and dispersed to a Race whose need for something tactile
is built upon faiths, values, and ideas drowning the humans
to sway along to a choir of lies that the people demand
be upholded lest the stink of reality lingers in the open
destroying the faithful and achieving the goal of the Seven.
Second thoughts infiltrated her corrupted flesh tickling
her fancy thoughts of idealism for a second tricking
her into dropping her captive for a prolonged moment
but the residue of disappointment reinstated the component
that allowed her to carry on in…
…but the doubt WAS still there…
The Book of Events: Version 1.0 