Your wisps now in mine,
In nexus led by our love,
Ghosts embrace, love waits.

"Whose gonna be a good boy now?",
Another taunt issued from the diseased throat of this abhorrent ****,
A slave I writhe amidst the cadavers of those before me, a fresh **** in this harlot's eternal hunt,
With the different hues of **** from my palette upon the walls of my hopes I'm forced to paint, the release of tortured sleep I now allow,

I awake to find the acidic ire of my blood spurting from lacerations innumerable have dissolved my chains I am freed,
Behold, our ***** queen of filth asleep amongst the rotting dolls of her discarded offspring from which she enjoys feeding,
Now your mind I'll be ****** while I lash your body into seizing, the ******* from this bloodlust I've been needing,
Upon her lips still clings aborted flesh, clutching the softly whimpering child close to her chest, bubbling and leaking still my seed from the last forced breed.

But it fades and my eyes open, my body still laying on the fluid covered slime of death's floor, how?,
The matron stands over me, this is the true absence of God above,
She caresses my cheek and whispers close and warmly with the low rasp of her bile scarred throat with sadistic love,
"Whose gonna be a good boy now?"

Inside this derelict corpse in which I walk these emotions I must purge,

The other side is smelling sweet in this twilight, harder it is to fight this urge,

In the this sea of life my lungs are filling, the mind and body demand to diverge.

Haunting whispers from ethereal lips promise tranquility, while shades and wraiths distantly hum my dirge.

All the beauty in life has been carved of it's viscera during my strife,

Through the labyrinth of my mind I wander, but every hall ends with the knife,

From pores my blood bubbles, as perseverance fades with cowardice now becoming rife,

Further still I sink in this sea, tendrils of crimson pass my lips, in these depths silence proceeds ended life.

Now in the retrospective view of my memories, my mistakes seem lucid and odd,

How here now I still long for the summer heat full of smiles and laughs while running through fields of goldenrod,

How sad to be born dying, yet still yearn to **** others spirits completely to ease your own walk through this facade,

Floating now upon the surface amongst the throng of bodies the breeze carries away my last whisper, 'There is no God.'

This shell of a man is now free of the spell sang from the diseased siren hiding in love's mist,

But by death spoken he has already been long since afflicted,

And the echos still bludgeonly lament in the static of his mind from words that have left his heart sickened,

This blizzard of emotional famine he carries and the threadbare existence to which he clings can not coexist,



Like his old familiar role of the dog he digs his own grave,

For in the beautiful sunlight of life the growing warmth of dreams so near were forcefully aborted,

Held down in the lovely flower fields of his soul by vile lies sprayed with love's nectar his perception of everything now distorted,

For the memory of his aspirations now grey, and the last kite in his sky reading,"Hope," he became their slave,



As he now lays corroded and blackened he rakes the cold, feces ridden soil onto himself without pity,

Crows are now circling, and nocturnal horrors sensing his end,

He raises his hands for the last skyward imagining his gorgeous dreams in his fields of flowers, for through the flow of tears wishes he could mend,

Our patriarchs and matriarchs always said words couldn't hurt me, so why am I and my sky no longer pretty?

From your mouth spew the encrypted words, but you're eyes give me definition,

As I now live by the courtesy of your ignorance's feet a specter stained,

For even your spittle cares not of the flowers of my dreams dying in love feigned,

Loneliness will always fall and crawl toward beauty painted upon an abomination.



But the by product is the seeds you've sown in his mind of ire,

From my soul the light you've usurped, and filled it in with the bile of hate,

A metamorphosis is taking place here, behold you are God, you can create,

As promises and love cerebrally die before they pass your frosted lips, all hail the goddess for harlots to admire.



Day is now night, your kingdom has fallen, a stale rain patters the ground,

Don't you like what you've made?, Isn't he pretty now that he's bled out of his cage?,

A torrent of misery he his now, isn't he pretty?, Now your spirit to the molecule shall be force fed his rage,

He's so pretty now, the birds melt on their perches as he passes, as this ***** of filth swallows her siren's tongue, finally no more sound.



He stands now with his essence boiling and maggot filled heart viewing the end of his former master contorting in the cold muck like a slaughtered sow,

But standing here in the end you've still won, for a husk filled with the dark's horrors isn't a man alive,

You murdered him long ago and left the corpse as carrion so by control's pleasure you could continue to survive,

You have taught this former slave that even hate starts out as love, isn't he pretty now?

So long our blood has tarnished these chains,
Spotted now with rust they tell of our spirits rending,
They now even burn as our thresholds are nearing,
Even our eyes view ruptured stains in a forced reliving of our pains.

From the folly of anger we birth hate,
In the black sludge of grief we hear our minds wail,
As the voices of human waste instill in echos how we'll fail,
We shred our throats with screams and spit our defiance upon the feet of fate.

We will prevail through others vileness or to the atom shall die,
Whether slain or decayed always our wills shall burn bright,
We'll not perish in others conjured night,
And we'll not forgive flesh.... Their souls knows why.