Brand
Eyes clamped shut so hard if allowed they might weld shut praise be to G-d; praise to be forever covered in the silence of one's own self. Starts out so benign, so meekly, so timidly, there within walls reach, the sound of me within itself. My teeth so sharp, so jagged, to rip one's flesh from the bone, to chew, to savor, to spit back into my face.
On it's knees and begging myself for mercy, begging like a crack whore for a moments peace.
Whispering into my ear like a lover, like an insect into it's ears to burrow into the brain, to infest, to progress, to exasperate.
Grab hold of the nest with both hands and smash it into the floor, who cares if it's attached to the neck and I pretend it's my head. Like the messiah, I serve my last meal, made of myself. One would eat the world and never share a crumb, but of my blood spilled, of my body torn, take it all I beg leave nothing behind.......and none partook. How to eat a creature, how to butcher a beast to the marrow and watch it fumble to live, instinct is amazing.
Nostalgia is hard blanket to burn; fear is a spoiled child whore, pampered, well-fed, and passed around forcefully.
Twisting around so hard to find the shut off switch, to pray the spine severs from tension. When the eyes bulge and feel as plastic, the drool runs and pools, the blood coagulates and hardens, the flesh can't scream loud enough to drown out the mind. Can't cut a hole deep enough to find the seed where the bitter root holds, the tendrils always wheedling, searching, breaking apart the foundation, collapsing the temple.
Self resurrecting Lazarus, Legion clone, all met in the sepulcher of the skull. How to realize that existence is to create misery, to be suffering and to spread illness, to infect with life and kill in the same motion. My name isn't carved on a fucking headstone, my name isn't a part of the fucking word. Black hands hide one's face from the sickening spectacle. Maggots in my head yes, but I still can't eat garbage no matter how fucking hard it tries.
Sent to bed early for not finishing the meal.
It's hard to beg with fists, it's hard to plead through clenched teeth, it's hard to want whats rotten.
On it's knees and begging myself for mercy, begging like a crack whore for a moments peace.
Whispering into my ear like a lover, like an insect into it's ears to burrow into the brain, to infest, to progress, to exasperate.
Grab hold of the nest with both hands and smash it into the floor, who cares if it's attached to the neck and I pretend it's my head. Like the messiah, I serve my last meal, made of myself. One would eat the world and never share a crumb, but of my blood spilled, of my body torn, take it all I beg leave nothing behind.......and none partook. How to eat a creature, how to butcher a beast to the marrow and watch it fumble to live, instinct is amazing.
Nostalgia is hard blanket to burn; fear is a spoiled child whore, pampered, well-fed, and passed around forcefully.
Twisting around so hard to find the shut off switch, to pray the spine severs from tension. When the eyes bulge and feel as plastic, the drool runs and pools, the blood coagulates and hardens, the flesh can't scream loud enough to drown out the mind. Can't cut a hole deep enough to find the seed where the bitter root holds, the tendrils always wheedling, searching, breaking apart the foundation, collapsing the temple.
Self resurrecting Lazarus, Legion clone, all met in the sepulcher of the skull. How to realize that existence is to create misery, to be suffering and to spread illness, to infect with life and kill in the same motion. My name isn't carved on a fucking headstone, my name isn't a part of the fucking word. Black hands hide one's face from the sickening spectacle. Maggots in my head yes, but I still can't eat garbage no matter how fucking hard it tries.
Sent to bed early for not finishing the meal.
It's hard to beg with fists, it's hard to plead through clenched teeth, it's hard to want whats rotten.