(no subject)
what say you, meaningless abyss? not so empty of words these long years - but now you have a face.
you scream at me with unholy bias, your brow a burning steeple, shards of stained glass and bits of broken altar rupture up from your gums, your violent screaming smile.
you savage, skinless ape - your organs hardened on the outside - your black and long-dead armor - you warrior up from the heaping and smoking pyres of my past of wasted youth.
you have come to battle me now that you have taken form.
my only weapons left are the indifferent nature you had taught to me - a sullen student facing his visceral master - and the hatred you never left me reason for.
to this end we will do battle.
my memories my rod, the forgetfulness of all those who knew me your sword.
we crash and crash again - each drop of our blood spiraling into the formless wild - creating miserable galaxies filled with craven planets. each sliver and splinter of our broken instruments smuggling gods into those blasted heavens, dark things that maintain no mind or matter but simply force of will, an echo of our screaming oaths. so unto those planets these gods bring about men in the image of us, our constant bickering evolving them into wretched heartless contradictions.
so we kneel forth - our heaving chests exhausted - our skin marred with the marks of teeth - our guts dripping into the dark matter beneath - our final struggle the effortless big-bang of an existence of sorrow. and then you look at me, your jaw slack, your eyes bulging, and we suddenly wonder - what vehement war had spawned us? to whom belongs that masterful despise that hemorrhages us into being? we are just a reflection of the idiot fury of something greater, or perhaps more engrossed than we.
take my hand abyss - we have stared at one another long enough.
you scream at me with unholy bias, your brow a burning steeple, shards of stained glass and bits of broken altar rupture up from your gums, your violent screaming smile.
you savage, skinless ape - your organs hardened on the outside - your black and long-dead armor - you warrior up from the heaping and smoking pyres of my past of wasted youth.
you have come to battle me now that you have taken form.
my only weapons left are the indifferent nature you had taught to me - a sullen student facing his visceral master - and the hatred you never left me reason for.
to this end we will do battle.
my memories my rod, the forgetfulness of all those who knew me your sword.
we crash and crash again - each drop of our blood spiraling into the formless wild - creating miserable galaxies filled with craven planets. each sliver and splinter of our broken instruments smuggling gods into those blasted heavens, dark things that maintain no mind or matter but simply force of will, an echo of our screaming oaths. so unto those planets these gods bring about men in the image of us, our constant bickering evolving them into wretched heartless contradictions.
so we kneel forth - our heaving chests exhausted - our skin marred with the marks of teeth - our guts dripping into the dark matter beneath - our final struggle the effortless big-bang of an existence of sorrow. and then you look at me, your jaw slack, your eyes bulging, and we suddenly wonder - what vehement war had spawned us? to whom belongs that masterful despise that hemorrhages us into being? we are just a reflection of the idiot fury of something greater, or perhaps more engrossed than we.
take my hand abyss - we have stared at one another long enough.