CITADEL, OF HOPE AND WHITE FIRE. HEARKEN, A CHOIR FOR KINGS... TRANSCENDENCE. CROWNED IN TEETH AND SEVERED WINGS. IS THIS THE END OF THE FLESH?. . my prison and my salvation.
Perfection, a world apart we are. Bright star and the eye. ...I am. . Riding the tides. Crux... Astral grace. Down silver locks to cosmic crossings. How far have i come?.
Tapestry of the starless abstract. All horizons fall through dying stains. A crimson crown to call my own. O home is everywhere i voyage. And darkness is always with me....
Oh why?. Oh why the butterfly of man?. . Oh why?. Oh why precious beauty?. With eyes that speak tongues. Foresight and memory, maelstrom wormholes. Behind, the vast passion.
Swan of pale. Of porcelain white. Her halo, a bloody sun. Framing a Botticelli face. Of petrichor weaves black noise. Where her frame disfigures. Pale of the swan, painted... Dying.
Can you remember the words of our dying Mother?. All winters' white... and wonderful. The third eye spies the greatest pain. In league with the cycle of life... feel the change.
Masquerading, the grey vultures. Coalescing in black swansongs. ...Of the dead. ...As the dead sigh. Therein the quickening shadows. Kisses upon lifeless fingers.
Kings of our emptiness, the flagellants align. Their mouths fill with questions, blessed they are by God's tokens. . Ware to walk the painted... the painted path.
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Piles of lustrous packages. Too precious little time. Aerated, glazed look, impregnated. Cram it in, run on by. . Receptors race. The switch flips now.
Suspend mental pictures. The comfort mirage where all's illusory and golden. Suspend, rescind. . Suspend mental pictures. Fields of lush promise versus the fetid, monochrome.
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Recruited under implicit pacts. Immoral instigators try to cover their tracks. But convergence of atrocities are thinly disguised. And herein hides their fucking lies.
We hunt in packs at the sharp end. Portrayal is sacrosanct and little is pretence. We circumvent with unrivalled awareness. Suspects with whom we're mute held in utter contempt.
Squalor is at large in tidy suburbia. Filth and dirt abound in every corner, yes. Things left on the floor. . Abandoned foodstuffs and things left on the floor.
I'm sweating out the dregs of excellent. Over everyday balances and checks. Apparently in the spirit of forging ahead. Apparently in the spirit of forging ahead.
Apocalypse now - await the great awakening. Apocalypse now. The bland leading the bland. Or so to realise, casting off societies hand. Dead cards for credibility have sapped complexities of self.
Torrential flow where anything rolls. Addled - It's so verbose. Shrill then sickly then so verbose. A self-advancing spout that's so verbose. . Grating, grating, reverberating, reverberating (reverberating).
The system is a parasite on me. It sucks my time, it sucks my energy. It take my life if necessary. It take away my ability to be free. . Everyone dies, the system survives.
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