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7.6k · Nov 2012
Crawling Chaos - 2008
Azathoth, upon the black throne,
steps of twelve hesitant to tone.
Madness and chaos swallowed your mind,
ears of the deaf, eyes dying to be blind.
Shrills of discordance to rattle this hell,
Creating our world as Barbelzoa fell.

He sees you not, too blind to care,
he can not answer to what he doesn't know is there.
Before her fall, sat a throne, the purest of white,
silver crown on the queen, a beauty of light.

The twelve danced with compassion and Joy,
the twelve being thirteen, a conjoined girl and a boy.
Ripped from the twelve, the thirteenth, a faceless creature to devour,
trickery and blood play, our darkest hour.

Nyarlathotep, a name not to be cursed under breath,
for the least of your worries will be death.
In the center of nothingness, to find all that can't be seen,
To be greeted by Nyarlathotep, who is far vicious and mean.

Gnashing his teeth as he whispers these lies,
using deceit to cover the cries.
The dread he feels to speak Azathoth's name,
To slaughter all who give him fame.

See all the countless chapters of the souls he took,
only for you to be next, carve your blood in the book.
7.2k · Nov 2012
Be thy shame - 2008
I'm not your saint, I am the thorn,
I'm the havoc you will mourn.

I cradled your heart, and bore this taste,
I smeared the carnage upon your face.

I took control, I snapped your will,
I taught you ******, not to ****.

I ***** the violence, I made it raw,
I captivated hate with awe.

I stole your disgust and made it mine,
put your filth upon this shrine.

I abused the knowledge, twisted your fame,
in hope that I could be your blame.

I craved your envy, seduced your lust,
I shattered the belief that held your trust.

I made you all of which that you are not,
I am the decay which your body will rot.

Sabotaged your tender whims to mend,
to prove to you, that I do not bend.

Who had the control, was it me or you,
I will show you just what love can do.

Make you a God and then tear you down,
Lets show the world your painted crown.

The throne of cardboard, easy to inflame,
Your blood of Calvary, a stench of shame.
6.0k · Nov 2012
41821179 - 2010
Decrepit creature, in the cellar you dwell,
to be at the side of the "angel" that fell.
The door was cast open, my words - yours to slur,
the glimpse of your face, forever a blur.

Consumed in smoke, to linger at demand,
you were given to me, you're mine to command.
A desolate figure, with the number of six,
you are all combinations insanity could mix.

As a nothingness to live, to be as a whole,
to exist like a human, but to feed from a soul.
You are every hate but love I can acquire,
the sadistics of fantasy, the perversions of desire.

The purity of innocence, all knowledge to contain,
The hatred to breed, the ****** to refrain.
The being to devour, the being to let be,
to know, to dare, to will, to remain silent is to see.

Fear not he is there, fear so that he is,
to feed from the source you've convinced him is his.
He knows not what you are, but he knows it too well,
to exist in your life, he knows not where you dwell.

You know who you are, but he feels of himself not,
you are all that he craves, he is all that you sought.
He is the sanity to forever keep you mundane,
he is the power to forever keep you insane.

He is the understanding, the logic to be told,
the agony to breathe, the death you hold.
He is yours for the taking, but so are you,
The connection to what you can't have,
but the connection to what you do.
Flesh so soothing, a depression so strong,
A life so short, a misery so long.
A heart that's pure, with a touch of decay,
Words of slaughter, bitter blasphemies to say.
A God of the throne, a God in the dirt,
The evil of humanity, the supremacy of hurt.
A whisper of agony, a stench of audacious,
A corpse to taste in all your forged graces.

It is what it can't be, its not what you've said,
I take no blame for the nine inch nails in the dead.
The rope to devour, I refuse his blood,
To catch in the mouth, and swallow the mud.
Worship the gruesome sight with fear,
Wait for your judgment as it treads itself near.

Scream of the Hollow, shutter of harrow,
Lets worship a creature without a better tomorrow.

— The End —