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Carnage

Carnage, carnage. My soul wants carnage. My mind wants bacchic excellence and my sacrilege demands a justification. What I desire, however, is my total condemnation.

A form of arithmetic christening, where mathematics empirically deems me both the sinner and the saint. Where I don't have to bend the laws of dogma to achieve such an antithesis. I want heavenly glory and lustful sin. I want to praise Dionysus in a naiad cove and fall to my knees in a pentecostal church. I want the lord to embrace me and for the devil to fuck me. I want drought to become me, to kiss my sunken cheek and deem me worthy of drainage. I want to be the perfect victim to every divinely endowed force of nature. I want for The Flood to come again, and jump off the Ark of my senseless comfort, to a brave, gallant doom. The doves will mourn me by staining themselves with the blotted red ushering out of their hearts. They will fall by the thousands.

I don’t want to be reborn, for I will live forever.

The Blue Garden

Where hushed prayers fall from lips of lovers Where hand in hand, they learned to walk alone Where our solitude of soul has lied...

like god

The promise of betterment, an owl’s talons drawing blood The haze of tomorrow, milky eyes of a predator that did not sleep The haunting...

Dissolute Sanguine

To perceive is to digest, and to digest is to warp beyond repair; Do not perceive that which you do not wish to be warped. i) Cessation...

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