The Rotted Mirror

Oh  my gods, I can't even look anymore
What I discovered is more than she needs
The sights of the eyes when you gaze at the mass
Destroy all the senses and descend the disease 

Putrid and Bile are all that is on mind
The smell you imagine is covered
By the sounds you perceive, you shall beg and you'll plead
For mercy at the hands of the defiled

The disgustingly bloated
Trudge on in the light
Shun by those who are cleansed
Once more they migrate to feast on the flesh
Of the sickened, unholy and damned

The trail of rotted have further implied
That the ghastly feared secrets have emerged
The one I have kept from you my sweet dear
This isn't just games, nor ill fated words
But your eyes stare back at your form