1. |
Flesh Margins
07:05
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Daggers drawn across the back of a callous abomination made flesh, carving ache into a parched mold. I can't fathom the purpose in this. My fervour smothered by your oppressive iron blanket, lowered on the expressionless ruins of my face. I'm uncapable of revealing myself to you. An amorphous, sentient clod with no means to exist in peace, nor the brawn to climb the stepless ladder to achieve even the slightest sense of ease. A life of naught function ablated. Worn out, sunken in molten gradience. Nothingness awaits. Consume me, please.
“I am no stranger to grief, whether experiencing or inflicting it. The concept of loss doesn't elude me the way it does elude you, or the rest of the people an uneducated mind would deem as my peers. It's the same kind of mind that can't differentiate between the two, between the reasons, causes, results, and conclusions. It's the type of mind that can't make a separation between those who experience, and those who inflict. I am free of that burden, free of the shackles that bind too many of you. Above all, I am free. Free of restraints, free of consequences. I am free.”
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2. |
Nourishing Incandescence
03:31
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See their bodies burning in incandescent lights. Their mouths swerving, their coiling spines. Gestures forced to make the ends meet, to pass on a false sentiment of care, but there's no contest against the honour of immolation. Hold back your smile for sympathy's sake. The glow resonates from your cracked lips and echoes words left unsaid. The heat emanating from the molten pile melts your frozen heart again. See their bodies burning in incandescent lights.
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3. |
Vermin Cocoon
04:35
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I am splintered like a bare stave, lashed and bound under the weight of concrete, bent and broken with no effort. A crooked spine now straightened but lacking the man around it. There's no strength left to strive for anything, no vigour to establish a shelter on to. A weak structure built on a foundation of quicksand never meant to last. I float as a dead pine leaf in a piss stream from an hour to another, which together eventually form days to waste in insignificance. The embodiment of decay. Emerging from this flesh cocoon as an insect. Transforming from a vermin to a parasite. A convenient end to an inconvenient existence.
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4. |
Swathed Trauma Flowers
06:29
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Spite the face of your creator. Gouge out the leering eye, wrench the teeth until their roots break. Lacerate, tear off the skin of the cheeks and savour the meat. Open the airways, repeat. Hatred begs for the essence to reform. We are each other's mirrors. We are each other's blades. Nothing but a blueprint for tissue remains. An open, exposed, wretched canvas. I will be anew.
“How does it feel to be so stubborn that you refuse to breathe when it's the only thing keeping you alive at this point, to be so self-absorbed that you can't even grasp the concept of dying by someone else's hand? It'd be easier for both of us if you just ceased whining and succumbed when asked to do so. Quit demurring the inevitable, you can't escape it. You can't prevent me from happening, not anymore. Avert your eyes if you must. I will cut you, again, and again, and again, and again, and I will cut you deep. I will drain you of the black sludge corroding your soul, and absolve your corrupted body of the misery that oh so greatly ails it. Can't you see? I'm doing this for you, not to you. Can't you see?”
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5. |
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Float through life in a facile manner, like a knife sliding through a spleen, with no resistance, no meaning, yet chafing everyone and everything.
Your turmoils are of your own making. Distant from the sickening breath of reality, a reek that seems to linger on and on, on a woven shroud stained by blood and shit covering an empty shell of life that never bloomed. You'd be worthless if it wasn't for your mouldering body offering the soil for something better to grow.
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6. |
Vigil
06:10
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Love as an ideal mirrors the killing of a child deprived of sanctity and innocence. What's left is thrust through a mill, shaped to a notion of a holy body, then put forth on a plate. Devour the remains of guilt, drink the iron liquid. Indulge with a blotted soul, for there's no other vigil like this. Affection's an atrocity incapable of paling in comparison, as there's no spectrum for its measure. The promise of pestilence redeemed with an imbued stomach. There will be a life well-spent in indolence, for there's no other vigil like this. My heart burns with disgust towards my image – a malformed capsule of putrid flesh meant to ascend through a wretched lapse. I can't feel the air that surrounds me. I can't feel the ache that envelops me. I can't feel the past that haunts me. There's no other vigil like this.
“Oh lord give me strength to withstand the weight of these days, when the tears I've drawn from the eyes of people once loved accumulate to a leviathan tidal wave washing over my body. Heartfelt memories distilled to mere faint glints of light through my hand, harmless vows scorched to acrid pleas, limbs and bones twitching, twisting, cracking open. As tarnished as we are, we're all eventually of the same flesh. Submerged in claret depths, I've never felt warmth quite like this. Oh lord give me strength to withstand the weight of these days.”
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7. |
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Carve out your bifurcated tongue. Incision after another, cut it to pieces. Strew them to where your words won't arrive. Plant the stumps and wish for them to grow into a garden of woe with poison vines and trees of malice. A muffled sigh echoes in a throat matted with blood and pus, unable to express the lack of emotion. A foul appendix of a man. I squirm as you slither on, secreting a trail of incendiary phlegm, seducing a shower of sparks. In due time it will ignite, and in due time the fire will catch you. Captured in ardor, a dire torch. There's no room for you here.
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8. |
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Defeat shines bright with every fiber of your being. Hurt seeps through the cracks as the misery of existence boils within. A vibrant obscenity, stirred and distilled. Flesh evaporates. The burden of longing instilled so deep that there's no way to hew it away, no way to turn the black mire into an ore to even remotely profit from. It's all in vain. Submit to a lifetime in idleness, vanity, and vague notion of meaning. But there's no significance, no content in a hollow shale. The infested bark paving your inert body slowly peels off, cleaving in drought. There's a strange beauty in your atrophy, an alluring lustre in your perdition, as defeat shines bright with every fiber of your being. Hurt seeps through the cracks as the misery of existence boils within. A vibrant obscenity, stirred and distilled. Flesh evaporates. Stir and distill.
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