Piquant, sordid reality
Cramping thoughts..
Striving to rise above the grave..
As the sheep are fed to the butcher…
All lined up outside the chambers…clothes taken off..one by one..
The lover searches fir the ones who can lead him
To the dull arms of his dead consort
Abhorring the flames..
As the fragrance comes
Driven to insanity…
Laughter erases the silver blades that fall on those free from carnage
The survivors stare at the rotting carcass with their mangled arms and scrawny bodies
They shall be the next sacrifice..
To the caprices of the one..
Cut out the prohet's eyes and sew his eyeballs.. blind vestiges...
Inspiration illumined.. the angles scream..
And the daemon arises..not solitary this time
Peaceful Elijah stretches his hand and asks for the key..
And the Daemon replies.. “My name is Legion..for we are Many..”
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