Trapped.
Engorged in a prison box too small for the swelling of my spiritual rotted flesh.
Given the necrosis of civilizational crumbling had cast it's affect unto me,
I melt in the wading pool of an invisible guard wielding the spear of viral pandemic.
I hold steadfast in my mental capacity.
Only to have the prism of stability rocked by the puncturing of many holes in the hot air balloon that glides through the ice...
I am rocked, shook, and unhinged;
I am the door that sways gently in the breeze to the rocking tides of this astral storm of disease.
All of this chaos in the atoms of my mind's eye...
As I simply lay here.
Trapped.
Engorged in the prison of the mind.
I am my own gatekeeper. A militant simply funded by the fear of the invisible guard.
I blink and sip the coffee, sitting up in the bed.
Shake off the madness, and return to stillness.

The Corona of the Sun
Is everlasting

The Corona of the virus
Is a temporary crown on a knight of disease

The black light of this fell Corona
Is made of dust and tears and ash
It will fall when the next wind blows

The Corona of the Eternal
Will outlast and outlive

The pain is only temporary
As, too, our spirits will outlast

We will outlive
For we are mirrors of the Corona
Of Glory

Ominousness.
Looming spectre,
Illuminated by the cast
lights of fanaticism

Abstraction.
Looming absurdism,
distorted by the stained glass
of your personal apocalypse.

Consumption.
*******, ravage-ly appearing spectre.
From the mouth of serpents.
From the blood of a bat.

The world cries 'alas' in a throaty bellow,
The spectre dancing in rhythm to the melody of the chaos.
The melody of plague building the roads of conquest.

The many faced spectre drifts across the blue,
eyeing the masses.

This abstract ominous consumption of hope.
Swallower of light.

The spectre walks on water.


We are in the caste net.

Standing upon a hill, I.
Under black & purple sunwheel.
Standing with sword in right hand, representing morality and righteousness.
Standing with mine own decapitated head in left hand, represting violent and sudden removal of Ego &&& it's prompt reclaimation.
Standing soaked in the blood of the wound as my sacramental rebirth offering and cleansing.
My own next level of Apotheosis.
Kept alive by sheer will & & & magicks.

Headless mystic standing akin to an Autosacrifical Kali Ma.

Standing as Ego.

Standing as Godhead.

I.A.O.

Standing as Headless Warrior.

Omnia et Nihil.

I am become The Other, the Ritual Evolution.
Hail.

Clouds of thought
Gripping tight the skin of my throat
Thick clouds of whisping anxiety and panic;
Upon which I choke!

Smoke of insanity
Of eyes shifting in a sandstorm around the room, always. Forever.

I choke.

I stumble. I choke.

The taste of blood from obsessive consistency becomes momentarily, forever.

The hatred I feel for my experience is forever, momentarily.

Clouds of panic grip my mind.
Clouds of anxiety gag my throat.
Clouds of obsession rob my time.
Clouds of sorrow **** me slowly.

Upon clouds, I choke.

Eyes shut glancing into eternity
Monastically still in his own sadness.
Forever a cloud over his sun.
There is no foundation upon which to build.

Styx always flowing too fast to jump;
Life: too slow.

The eye, his eye, red from exhaustion & drought,

Algiz of the soul, inversed.
He has no apotheosis nor revelation of Godhood.

The golden light in his life,
dulled to a smoldering shadow,
could not be re-ignited.

Others smile without hesitation, nor lies.
Others' light: a golden fire.

There is no door out of life for the cowardly,
& no spark to rebirth the light.

A cold limbo, his.

The crushing weight of the world,
moste existential,
was also the dreadful crushing weight of existence for him.

Everyday, a labored breath of smoke drenched air.

Every lie, a cry for help he neither wanted nor deserved.


..
Walking blindly through the fog of existence.

Forever, forever...
Unto nothing, nihil, nothing...

Forever.

Nothing.

..Forever.