End It

End it all,
The silence is deafening,
The words refuse to stop,
Hearing the death of my thoughts,
Ringing in the depths of my heart,

Tell me now,
The reason for this heracy,
This unfounded falacy,
Why must I be forced through this,
To see the darkness inside?

Where are you now,
The little voice inside?
Why have you taken this path?
Time and space give no remorse,
For the mortality of immortals.

In the annals of the age,
We see the lines drawn in black,
Everything clear in obscurity,
Down the the faith you falsly utter,
And where is my recompense?

Today, I take your heart,
And I drag it through Hell,
With muted screams,
You will know the pain,
Of my Lost Cause.

Eggshells

Watch the shell as it breaks,

And all the force that it takes,

It takes the blows, weathers the rows,

All with a straight face it fakes.

Listen to the soul as it suffers,

While absent the heart of another,

It shows no tears, speaks no fears,

All whilst being torn asunder,

Feel the chains that bind,

That hinder the spirit, the mind,

They take you down, that metal gown,

After you leave it all behind,

Watch the shell as it breaks,

And all of the force it takes,

With eyes rolled back, and jaw gone slack,

All while your life she takes.

Arrogance

How arrogant is man!
He walks unchallenged under the wrath of the storm.
As the lightning strikes and the clouds bellow in fury,
Man pays no mind.
He builds towers of steel and iron,
Vast cities does he inhabit!
Giving no heed to the power of the heavens.

How much more arrogant is he,
If these forces dwell simply upon the Lord's footstool?
What challenge, then, does he offer to the God Above?

Ivy

It begins in the chest, like a dark weight,
A tiny pull that betrays the inevitable and irresistible vortex,
It pulls on the ribs, then pulls on the shoulders,
Black tendrils reaching and seeking out,
Searching for every node, every nerve of the beast inside,
Warm fingers burrow into the subconscious, pulling at the strings,
Thoughts of strength and prowess, violence and blood,
Slowly it reaches into the arms, the neck, the abdomen,
Coiling in the muscles, tensing them, tightening them,
The sickly vines reach the mouth and throat,
While the fingers pull more strings,
Thoughts of victories, of feasts, of meats and wines,
Black saliva, while still clear, fills the mouth,
While bile floods the stomach, and it growls,
Inside the chest, the weight grows stronger,
Threatening to consume every part in turn,
And now, here, it begins to bolden,
The tendrils coil tightly around the waist,
And burrow deep inside, while the thoughts begin to change,
Thoughts of curves, of heat, and motion,
Of sweat, of teeth, and voices,
It grips tight the arms, closes tight the jaw,

Now this, my friends, is the last chance,
The last moment to realize, to take control,
For if you fail, She will have you.

She whispers in the ears with dark thoughts,
She flushes the body with fire,
She promises such things that the heart begins to race,
And when the eyes close, the assenting breath let out,
Be you alone or not,
She has you.

Aneurysm

Listen,
Can you hear it?
Subtle and soft even in the silence?

Heat,
Can you feel it?
Steam and stench inside my skull.

Every single thought of you,
Is a piece of me escaping,
Into Vapor,

Every moment I dwell on you,
Is a part of my mind,
Boiling away.

You're a fever, a virus,
And you're buried inside my brain,
You've embedded yourself inside me,
There's no cure for this pain.

There,
Can you smell it?
This sacred, scarlet secretion?

Blood,
Can you taste it?
This liquid, lifeless, on my lips?

Quiet the Process

Quiet the process of my Demise,
Speak to me no more of war,
Whisper to me not of secrets,
I will hear no more of this,

Quiet the process of my rest,
Tell me not of how she left you,
Inform me not who is in,
I will hear no more of this,

Quiet the process of my contimplation,
Plant not your thoughts in my mind,
Place not your nails inside my skull,
I will hear no more of this,

Quiet the process of my prayers,
Speak to me your truth,
Whisper to me your light,
I will hear no more but this.

Permanancy

I sit here, alone, here on my bed,
Steel in my hand, pain in my skull,
My only company are the floating notes,
And the Twenty-two voiceless strings,

Uniform cast aside upon the floor,
Paperless book, dormant, asking for life,
A soft banshee hum and clicking of keys,
Brutal light stinging my eyes.

This is the norm, my constant,
Alone here with my thoughts,
Noone here to bleed and weep,
From the razor-point of my tounge,

No expectation to change,
From this dormancy,
Perhaps this is the way it is,
This permanancy.

VD

What is this madness?
A designated moment of affection,
In memory of holy Immolation?
We stand for this mockery?
This trampling of a sacred ideal,
In it its place somthing unreal?
Disease runs rampant and trust runs thin,
Lust flows thickly, though quickly,
Through these sickly streets,
Filling our nostrils with its vile stench,
Walking corpses fill the walks,
The air rings with their nonsensical talks,
Words of Love and Fidelity,
Though hollow, lacking reality,
All this said, I know these things to be true:
Love, genuine, love be real,
With it ye never need lie, cheat, nor steal,
It's currency is absolute,
Though more rare than the most precious of gems,
It carries on through all toils,
Despite all obsticles and attempted foils,
It gives you wings to soar,
And gives somthing to live for.
Though love be true,
Though I have seen it's mark,
I fear that I know not it's face,
And have done my part for said disgrace,
I plead forgiveness for these sins,
And hope that a new path, now, begins.
May you all, and I, ond day,
Find our One.

Rising Son

Rising son,
New light in thes world now born,
Young life brought up in the shadow of the Cross,
At an early age torn asunder by unexplained expectation,
Though, by existance, an aberration to the sire,
By birth, the key to the bearers games,

Loved and Unloved,
Wanting nothing more than youthful bliss,
But no longer ignorrant of years' since conflicts,
Unintentionally and purposefully pushed aside, rage begins to set in,
Darkness crawls into the pores, and deficates aggression,
Though, while wholeheartedly destrcuctive, it remains unseen,

Thruth was spoken,
Tales of lives lost and of lives spent,
Fleeing sire leaving fearful youth in bearers clutch,
And in solitude, freezing winter, and starving summer,
Begain the turning, the creation of arms for vengeance,
Many a lie hense was spun in that creekside hell,

Angels and Demons,
Creatures of old best left in the realms of Fae,
Brought into clear focus, breeding pestilence and hate,
Four moons hense spent grinding the blade, fining the tine,
The weapon burning with firey hate and destructive rage,
Such fire only possible through careful coaxing,

An Unholy challenge,
With no base for claim, only a platform of demonic lies,
A darkened son moves to eclipse the sire,
Throwing tainted words of God and dear Jezibelle,
Amid this tiny, ignorrant storm the sire is unmoved,
And with words of power breaks the demons hold,

Confusion,
The son lies broken, a useless weapon of vengeance,
The world is shattered beneath small, unknowing feet,
All he wants is to play soldier and knight,
But there will be no more time for play, for the poison remains,
And the inner-child is the first to die,

Whispers in the night,
An unheard voice in the back of the mind,
Somthing primitive, somthing faint and forgotten,
Through cracked, dead lips comes this voice,
Silently spoken, but filled with commanding power:
"Where is my mommy?"