13 guns to make you realize that the bullet transpierces through you when you hold back,
13 wounds that mark the birthdate of the soldiers in your heart.
What if I told you that the pack of wolves you used to lead
have become some belligerent lunatics?
You were a Valyrian steel with a heartbeat,
a Northern light with a pulse.
Perhaps you were just in dire straits
when the racing bullets took you away under the hands of the ******.
13 fuzz pedals to take you home to your world of riffs and ****,
13 distortions to shield you from the noises you don't wanna hear.
Inclement dead hearts won't resurrect if they
still can't possess the
authoritative prowess to be an indestructible master of war.
13 bullets that you swallowed but you felt nothing
because 13 scythes of the lords of doom did no fear to you.
Your wolves have been wondering every single day since then;
how could you ever end that song?
And your vultures no longer could hear you sing
so they stopped spreading their wings.
Guns. Razors. Knives. Rocket Skates by Deftones.
That's a decent tune but I suppose those three gears are for battles
not for you to dismantle yourself.
13 razor blades that kept you away from consciousness,
and 13 IV tubes that left lost souls crying on your hospital bed.
At that time I realized
you were not just in dire straits
or your 6's and 7's.
The bullets that you swallowed then thrived into your heart in revolt
and it became a cancer.
I should have known.
Deftones girl, are you alright?
(You obviously are not.)
I'll play the song Rocket Skates again beside your deathbed
so that you'll wake up one day
and we would sing marches of heresy.
13 soldiers who continued the legacy of your unfinished song,
13 vultures that fly up high to your transcendental realm,
and 13 last songs from me to you.

Yeah, right, those times when
you get involved in all those street fights
and you win them all
and all those fights are just to prove that
you're stronger
whereas your heart keeps on hollering in distraught
and suffocating in poignancy.

Yeah, right, there are those times,
you have always wanted to say,
"Dear mother and father, I have won this fight!"
after you actually conquered what the real fight is—
which is battling your fear in places where you feel unwanted.
And thus you said it with gleaming pride to the two souls who raised you.
But unfortunately when you come home they disowned you
for they have grown weary of all your shenanigans and juvenile delinquent brawls.

Even the place that raised you has eradicated your presence
and thus you have nowhere you find tranquil
and you keep on counting the next battles and fears.
And yeah, they feel privileged to call you anything,
be it a libertine with a ****** up life,
or the kid with the lowest rank of worth in the school of the heinous world.

Indeed, you can thrash the living **** out of them with your fists and guns.
But when they throw menacing words at you, you become weak
and all those fighting skills mean nothing to you now
for in all conscience you're weaker than broken branches
behind all those façades of the savage delinquent persona.

And your mother, her no-longer-precious young vine is out for war everyday,
but she keeps insisting that you're not fighting for anything at all.
And your father, his not-anymore shining crescent is now a forlorn and disoriented shipwreck,
but he keeps focusing on your rebellious surface rather than your shattered heart.
And your delinquent mates, they only used you because they think you're the strongest.
And the people who only know your surface, they're almost always out to haunt you everyday.

It's not about me, it's about you.
If one day you reach your limitation of strength
and you can no longer save yourself,
then who will do?
If there are plenty of kids who share the same fate of you
in this atrocity-ravaged world of seven billion,
then what can I do?
If lives keep on falling because all of us are weak but never get protected,
how dare I pretend that I'm unaware of it?

In the end, we all die.
Some die in contentment, some others in destruction.
Some die of fate, some others of choice.
But how would you feel
if the one who has always been in the front row of your gigs,
and the one whose artworks you have always adored,
and the one who always lights your circle with their vibes,
and the one who invincibly skates through high valleys,
and the one who sends you encouragement every night,
and the one who sends you to a real home when you're nowhere man,
are all the ones who die of choice?

Those conformist educational institutions give awards and homages to the ones
who are the smartest and brightest with scintillating future ahead of them.
But no one has ever given any awards to the strongest fighters
whose dark and distorted future is completely not their fault.

We didn't **** ourselves over shattered youth.
Those low-life swines murdered us after leaving us a shattered youth.
And thus I only have one single word;
Fight.
Not with fists, not with revolvers, not with explosives, not with submachine guns, not with daggers, not with ****** rifles, not with multiple launcher rocket systems.
Fight
with thy heart.

Sergei, I want you to grow as an Overlord.
Sergei, who knows that I might be your Valkyrie of the North
that grants you all the stars
High on Descendents songs and never caves in,
that’s how I’ve always perceived you.
Villains of circumstance might win this time
and if you let them, they would rise above and you don’t want it,
you know that you’re weary of earth and its cores.
And if you let me, I would fight with transcendence
and I would beat the living **** out of the world,
yeah, the world that has always made you drown.
Sergei, if you ever want to die,
remember that I own the skies that make you feel alright,
all the thrones, all the dreams.
Hey, I want to see, how you’ve always wanted me
to go on and play all the songs that represent
the anarchist soul of mine, it made you feel alright.
Sergei, I want to grow up as a fighter that converges all the skies, all the worlds,
so you would see how I’ve always wanted life-changing days with you.
Say, I carved your name on my coat, beside that Black Flag patch
that you earned me when I saved you from the villains.
I, used to resist my urge to wake up from hell
For my fears of you leaving, yeah, it’s the real hell.
You know, I would give up my wings and my throne,
but you’ve always wanted to earn your own
So that you could take me with your forceful wings
and show me that you’ve got over those self-inflicted scars
and that you’ve landed safely in my heart as you fight,
and you no longer think of death, which means we’ve won.

Sergei, don’t dethrone me, for the lord of the flies hasn’t seen you alive as a knight, and when you’re at the peak, tell me that you’ve won.

Vanguarded by thrones,  

I am still  

into the wilderness.  

For the serpents,  

they thrive into the darkest souls.  

Dismantled,  

I wish for reigns to come.  

Without power to invade,  

I am no lord.  

(How I wish I were never in a dark descent.)  

For the disciples of the knight,  

they would never come.    

My blood rides the doom,  

Baphomet’s head is on the run  

as I drown myself into Thy scape of aether.  

I thrashed myself the **** down  

and then I ran onto Thy strongest fort  

as I wrote an eulogy about you  

whose life has been overtaken by eagles with decapitated heads.    

WE SCREAM / AS SERVANTS IN REVOLT; / WHO DO YOU THINK  WE ARE—————————    

0384-2 38948248-23 4893840  403853-839 SYSTEM EXPERIENCES MALFUNCTION    

93084 23049702    

I have always loved  

the world I built on my own  

for you used to live in it

as an apprentice of the serpents.

“Your eyes were the only witness to my ****** up past.”

Those were your

last words

And now where are you?

29834328293 842938482948 4898 SYSTEM IS GENERATING A NEW PROJECTION

BEHOLD

FOR THE WARLOCKS

AND THE HELLRAISERS

ARE OUT TO GET YOU

ON A LACERATING SNOWSTORM IN THE NIGHT OF THE YEAR 2002

38402903849208

I would wake up to blackgaze tunes and kvlt growls everyday and then mentally punch myself in the gut

and your reflection would appear on the mirror conveying that you’re relieved I’m now a pacifist without violence and guns.

A libertine at heart, I could never grow up the way anyone has ever wanted myself to be

that the world is also writing down elusive conundrums that scream at me as if they’re telling me to suffer louder.

And despite the fact that you said my songs were disastrous and blackened crust repulsed you,

it was always you on the front row on my gigs, screaming out loud that I was the only overlord you would sell your soul to.

****** and severely injured, I thought the night you died was my night

where I could finally stop being a servant of the discordant world

for I thought you took me along with you to the transcendental world of death.

Oy vey, what’s left is only the fact that we’re now worlds apart

and the recording of your shoegaze rendition of my last song that you have always described as disastrous.

My flesh is saying that; 1. Thy art is believing in the power of disbelief.

and 2. You dying as a servant has made me feel more enslaved than when I wasn’t on top of the world.

Winter Valkyrie, that’s what my last song’s called.

You loved it; you loved me; and that’s how Winter Valkyrie was born.

Once I was drowning in a belligerent dark despair and I asked you what my existence meant

and then you started singing your favorite part of He Is by Ghost;

“He is

he’s the shining and the light without whom I cannot see.

He is

insurrection, he is spite, he’s the force that made me be.”

Just, who am I?

Ever since that day I started calling you Winter Valkyrie

and together, we sought for roads to the altar where we would rule and destroy.

But now here I am only searching for roads to my own demise.

Remembering you, you have always said my songs were disastrous as a denial because you

thought that you didn’t deserve all the songs I dedicated to you.

Nevertheless, Winter Valkyrie,

here and now, my hands would not rest from creating distorted crusts from my guitar if you

just won’t wake up from your death.

Shine on, homeboy.
You're my fast-paced resonating crust; whirlwind overdrive; distinctively soaring fuzz thrashing against the walls of sound.
High octane stoner rock god up in the skies of a means to an end, yeah I'm the one. Stay
gold, for austerities shall never outpower us. Thy soldiers will rise, lest they have outpowered the flames. And then you will
inhale the smokes of my dope and you
will stare at the vacant road where
all the relentless nights come; wolves out.  
Death match
is pretending that I'm alright and
the world's fine as it is.
Check mate, I have never seen you alive. Always on the
run but never with a reigning
head on the clouds. Things grow
obsolete and I have learned to
be a seizer of all things gold—
today I
am the indestructible master
of war. But homeboy,
what am I without your distorted riffs and
solemnly poignant lamentations. I
am irresistible and indestructible but you
are way more than that. I
would love my favorite dopesmoker
beyond words; standing up on the mountains that envisage
voices of hollow forces. So tell me,
is it that I love(d) the ones I don't deserve or is it that I love(d) the ones who
don't deserve me? Today I
heard about you and the fact that
you're leaving the underworld— the world that has caressed and nurtured us dearly. You said it
was over. You loved me so——
that you would prefer cutting the streams of our days than having the
scythe of death disintegrate
us apart. It would give a
foretaste of lifetime
desolation, you said. If you were
the only one who had to die faster.
Bold as dead, I am.
We both will shine on because I
was brave— and I fought for what I believe in. But, again,
you're way more than that.

I looked through all the crap writings I did when I was 15
and one of them
had the phrase
"I am resurgent"
carved on it.

That was from
those days where
I havent realized that
I was
born to be an
anti hero;

Two years later I grew up
to be a vicious menace
and I deeply resented the way people around me manifested and projected their halcyon feelings of contentment in front of me because I was the only one who hasn't been able to feel those things amongst everyone I know.
I thought I could have been happier if I decided to redeem myself down as a hero but I
was
wrong.

No one will ever be a chaste saint nor a hero without desecration and it's alright that you won't ever be one because so won't I and all those premonitions of fright and dread will end once you've come to accept that maybe some of us were
born as anti-heroes
or
even
villains.

The visceral skies might be mad at me for I pushed people away by thinking that only drugs can make me smile and only my backup guys can save me and those skies were trying to warn me. If I seek for my knight in a shining armor just to use him as my escapist redemption to help me turn my back against everyone who claimed to love me then it's not love that I'm looking for; it's just revengeance towards the wrong people. The ferocious dissonance of black hole sun inside me hated the fact that everyone was happier than me and I was the only one who deserved headwind storm whilst everyone else deserved the sun.

Not everyone behaves generously all the time, some can turn into complete ******* including me and all those ****** up antiheroes and antiheroines who happen to be the unreliable narrators of the books I read. I have died a myriad of times after circumstances beat me up relentlessly until I choked on my pool of blood that tasted like the hard liquors that I got drunk on. At times I kept on dying for a long time and at times I resurrected but I didn't always resurrect into a better self and there were times I decided to reconstruct my past heroic self as a villain.

But I want to believe that I'm not all good nor all bad.

The caged princess valkyrie who used to wish she had a six-shooter gun, has been released from her cage and she now flies freely with her reconstructed wings to the vast iridescent-coloured visceral skies in order to reach the sun.

I am undefeated
eventhough I'm not.

[Let me be your silver lining, dear Alice.
I'll destroy this space of menace for your sake;
send us wings so that we might be freed from crucifixion—
—running and panting heavily against timelords.
And sometimes decaying isn't the initial conclusion,
so we'll fade away to the gates of hell.]

I.
Alice and I,
we were the
best of friends
since we were
kids.
Everything seemed
alright and
we have always
been at our zenith
until the high
stakes made us
drift apart.
I didn't see
her for almost a year
and when she came
back, she only
said one thing;
"I guess no one
possesses full control
to deviate against
the violence of
the sun."
and she disappeared
forever with no traces
to be found.
A lot of people told
me their guesses
about where she might
have been gone to
but I think
they're all lying.

II.
The inherent truth is
that Alice has been
reborn and become
a menace.
That girl was a
benevolent soul in
her past life
but her heart died
faster than the
speed of light
for the villains
of circumstance
killed her.
It's true that
altruism is a
lie and kindness
has never been
something perpetual
amongst people;
human nature
is malevolent and
kindness is deceptive
and that's why
Alice decided to
resurrect as
a villain and
the heroic past self
of hers had dissipated
into a thin air.

III.
There are people
who grow up
to be the person
they promised they
will never be
when they were
younger.
Nothing and no
one has ever really
been good or bad,
Alice, I think you
understand it too.
On the outside world,
they pretend to be heroes
and show off
their facade of
"kindness" in order to
strive for recognition;
they act as if
they're martyrs who
fight for everyone but
in fact,
they fight for their
own
good.
If they're saying
that egocentricism never
runs inside them then
it's a big
*******
lie.

IV.
You and I are
the ones who
used to be
afraid of
high stakes but
now we keep
on incessantly
demolishing those
high
stakes.
When you were
back from the dead,
you became the person
who destroys
everything and
everyone that
get in your way.
You and I,
we're both arsonists.
We ignite stalwart,
heinous flames toward
everything that opposes us;
not because we're sick
of being kind but
because we've come
to realize how
thoroughly fake
the concept of
kindness is.