He shuddered like a man on his death bed,
watching those dark thoughts infest his sad head.
They muttered secrets he kept from his wife,
they saw his affair and his other life.

They kissed his dreams with his own wicked lies,
fastened to his mind, and never untied.
He missed when the incubi ignored him,
but they swore the man would retain his sin.

Imps by the thousands poured guilt in his blood,
it thickened with hurt to deep painful mud.
He tried to move, but his muscles were scorn,
and in each second more hate thoughts were born.

The man had no choice, the fiends ruled madly.
Always he suffered, his mind never free.
The scamp-trolls decided to bite and shove,
and goblins of hatred stole all his love.

The memory demons played with his brain
until he merely felt badness and pain.
His vanity stabbed, he finally cried.
The demons pierced him again while he died.