The OC pony now tried to score,
with Ponyville's pinkest torturer.

His screams and cries were not from delight.
His body was hacked in gruesome sight.
She cut off his horns, all three, then five.
Far more to go, she kept him alive.
His wings of dew, she twisted right off;
he spasmed, gurgled in blood-filled cough.
His wings of feather and wings of bat,
She crushed with a vice and made them flat.
She roasted his flesh in jagged arcs.
He wailed as she burned his cutie marks.
His pain, her pleasure, she wanted more.
She spilled his guts and squished them galore.
He pleaded and whimpered for his life,
but into his heart she stabbed her knife.

And thus Pinkamena, now she bakes,
another batch of pony cupcakes.

By: Palm Palette