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—————————
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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
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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.
