The Death Of Me

"Follow my whims, they beckon you with a bellowing howl but I,
I'm wildfire that burns in perpetuity and you,
you are that light drizzle that I need to sizzle.


A million times I've resisted,but the fuck you stare,
it feels like witnessing a solar flare.
My heart it skewers and strips me to the core,
but who am I kidding, it was the death I had always wished for."

Of Wauling and Futility

The sorrow is sublime and under it the spirit is weary,
acute abomination is deemed incurable and is evidently dreary.
It bellows into the night and to the farthest point thus the cries travel,
but then eventually dies with its skin scraped on sand and gravel.

It now roams freely on the harrowed lands, where did death take a stroll
and sniggers it in the darkest corners as slowly raises the toll.
Fear has its name painted on walls and despondency patrols,
Havoc is rampant and chaos in the minds now rolls.

Halt, think and then once again, the purpose of such pain,
what’s done is done ,sulk and whimper if bliss it gains.
Inevitable and indelible they are, then why such madness,
why not feed it to the mongrels , what use is such sadness.

Lays amongst maggots and in moist soil, it only awaits putrefaction,
of what you shed and waul for, is just dust in progression.
Have your fill of the euphoric air, and glorify the endowed span,
feel , embrace, scream or just profligate, all of it while you still can.

The Son of Gory

And he went flying through the thorns of addictive agony,
and it tore and skewered him but oh the delectation of pain refuses to vanish,
Desert him you callous one, the spirit of bliss awaits,
drunk on the dubious ecstasy of the barren lands, how and what he draws.
When did he turn into this corpse of living immorality,
degenerate do people call him and it might still be a euphemism.

Choking on the tears that burn his pipes of wind,
he bellows in the highest of registers, beseeching eternal sleep
but pleadings of the subdued have and will remain unheard
and what remains are the cries that last and resonate for ever.
the son of gory shall remain unscathed , etched in stone that is,
for what they call abode of the damned , that is exactly where he dwells.

Peregrination of Perdition

Down it shall go with a thousand reasons  and they shall be the ones to see it rise,
far on the horizon it shall swim above the forsaken land where they killed their brothers and man,
 the blood in which they bathe , seek absolution in that cursed faith ,
gory shall hold no vice and justice shall be done without a pun

Where it shall be done ,it was then displayed, with what they played, the music of night,
 picked up a fight and it added to the bass, he painted it red and to dogs it was fed ,
where the nights were bleak and he was weary,
witnessed the massacre of dreams, nothing seemed more dreary.

And the skies then turned crimson but it wouldn’t rain in blood,
but it poured and poured its heart out and we swam in that flood,
running down an epileptic road stirring up the spirits of the deep rooted trees,
and their lament mixing with the wind ,acute pungency was the air’s clemency.

Meek and downtrodden becomes of the heroes, the peasant now excels archery,
gives away to savagery ,what mind couldn’t ever see, he participates in such appalled debauchery
laughter of slaughters , slaughters of laughter echoed as music sublime,
yes, this is man , this is mankind and he is in his prime.

Seeks the dawn he when the sun shines upon his head,
trampled lay his brothers while darkness treads,
and chortles  adversity in the run-down corners,
embraces mendaciously the fallen cherubs,
but would still carouse in these lands unholy, the man and his cubs.