deviantgene

Piquant, sordid reality

Cramping thoughts..

Striving to rise above the grave..

As the sheep are fed to the butcher…

All lined up outside the chambers…clothes taken off..one by one..

The lover searches fir the ones who can lead him

To the dull arms of his dead consort

Abhorring the flames..

As the fragrance comes

Driven to insanity…

Laughter erases the silver blades that fall on those free from carnage

The survivors stare at the rotting carcass with their mangled arms and scrawny bodies

They shall be the next sacrifice..

To the caprices of the one..

Cut out the prohet’s eyes and sew his eyeballs.. blind vestiges…

Inspiration illumined.. the angles scream..

And the daemon arises..not solitary this time

Peaceful Elijah stretches his hand and asks for the key..

And the Daemon replies.. “My name is Legion..for we are Many..”

The Distant cosmic dream,

Empowered by the plight of our race

Speeds towards us

Perhaps we are all insane and death liberates us from these fetters

Of this mortal realm

Underneath the shouts of the capitalist monsters and the growls of machinery, initiative crumbles…the voices of spirits reach us across the ages… shouting vociferously their disdain at what we have become

The faceless nightmare which was only a possibility top the ancients has manifested in all its medusa-esque beauty

Are you repelled by today’s comparison to the distorted beauty of the gorgon….

Don’t be

For now that our reality has manifested…we should learn to view beauty in the grotesque

The twisted ones are beautiful… and the beautiful ones are twisted to match the conception of society…whose jaws snap to devour every voice of dissent that arises out of its womb