Like oil or blood stains mixed with
obsession. You can't fucking get it
off! It's not leaving you, ever. Sink
into it. Let it cover your cracked
skin. That strong scent causing
volatile nonsense. It's imprinted on
your nostrils, eyes, ears. But your
fingertips it has eviscerated
whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooole
oh my,
what a waste of cells you've become
It's now sinking into your blood.
Such is life.
Such is death
Lift! Lift!
Atlas himself could not carry such weight.
Bless him that could.
But blessings do not exist here.
I sprinkled the altar
not with blood or holy water
but with something more viscous
more treacherous
that is how deep my desecration
and debauchery flows
I am no stranger to dark,
but this is something entirely different
In fact
I think it's 'nonexistent'
A corpse on the edge of reality
nothing more
You're stuck this way
without humanity
and
that
reversal
is inaccessible
to you
walking needle-point,
barren roads
or
thickened impossible loop passageways
'Come hither! young traveller.'
says the lock-laden priestess of
nonexistence
'I will show you the ʎɐʍ.'