1. CLUTCHING ONTO BONDAGE

Devour the young and their innocences, keeps the goddess alive. I'm seeing figures in the night. Born an animal. Innocence insidious. Colossal in stroke. Barking breamly and dreamily, seemingly hard beheaded beforehand. Bereavement of our time, in fear of the primal eight, we immortal demon kings. Vasting on damnation. Mortal congregation. Clutching onto bondage. Varnishing machine all that is vacant in humanity calling out all error from humanity . Colossal insignia, forsworn in charm spreads apart its flesh. Winged goddess of Satan. Take my final breath.


2. CUT THE CANVAS

My visions crumble, my blur awakened reality to manifest my strangulation. Push it into the flesh. Silence My senses heighten, my blurred reality combating skin on skin visions. Her own womb spills sludge. Winter seasonal in pain. Carnage forever twisted in vain. Euphoria kills my pain. Blood In the water. Is this not real. Surfacing bodies bubble the fluid with tranquil still life dreaming. Color full once removed, sickened with the spread of blood in the water. Boiled down to spread the sickness with blood in the water. I cut the canvas. Full of human skin. I paint my strokes. Some are large and some are thin. My eyes wide, my temperament observed. My thoughts are floating. I see them go round and round. I am blacked out. There is not a single thing happening that I am in control of. I’m paying no attention, this takes the most skill. This take the feverish will. This takes the most skill. My feverish will. I sit and practice my discipline. I cut the Canvas. Full of human skin. I paint my strokes. Some are large and some are thin.


3. MANIPULATING VIOLENCE

The bonds of flesh break through. Fly above, apocalypses is the place to be. Pray for Peace. The Bonds of flesh break through. Fly above. Carelessness. Sonic abbreviation shapes the view to see. Manipulating torment to freshen sexuality. I feel no magic, I feel insidious. Dismember my body, set me free, oh lord insidious, this curse or existence, this proclamation, curse of being human, oh animal. Manipulating violence to freshen sexuality. Plural evanescence.


4. FIXATION ON STRIFE AND STRANGULATION

Before the light heads down, and become ever last in darkness, my swoon forsaken. I wrap you in skin. Frankinsonofmine. Demolishing the one king. Sighing dreamily in the daylight. My nightmare returns. Incarnate suffer-rate bellowing out to shrink. Painful, bothered, and broken, the old man slays the sky above. We run for cover. Fixation of suffering fixation on strife and strangulation. From now on we know the snowmen exist. Ghost wife. We run for cover.


5. BELOW THE WATER

Dawn Breaks down for the mother she beckons down below she beckons, how am I that draws it’s arms out from behind.. Speaks in numbers, voices shouting phrases, Sickened and Disfigured. The Mother. Removal of space, distance to comfort. Down below, she beckons for my safety. I have been weakened by love and comfort. It’s not the way to greatness. My soul will always beam, but I must train in actual suffering. Actually tasting pain. Actually feeling cold. Water rinses over me once again. My skin releases it’s ability to cover my mind in absolute obedience. Dangerous, I mock the sleeping. Stocked full of blood and ambiance. The locker for my patients grows and tests my grits. My locked out heart. Keep it there. I need it there. I placed it there so I could grow. My seed will poison my life, who am I to blame? My past or society. I take full advantage to morph the situation into my advantage. The tightening of my lapse on my time. Can’t not feel like this isn’t what I needed. To have seen below the water. To breath in the water and gasp for air. I swim to the top. When I surface the sun shines into my eyes. I can see.


6. HERE TO PLAY

Blasting the mortals fasting. Sick stroat and mouthing to feed. The calf. Birthed from the mother. The cow. Impregnated by the boar. Sick stroat and found a whore. My biology manhandled by society. The past down wisdom mangled and turned by hero’s unknowingly. Facing demons unknown by imagination. Cultivation of years and years of human isolation. Weaponry. Blood boiled. It’s good for you. The soup of your misery is something for you to feel. To observe the feel. To watch it pass. To feel it disengage from your reality. To observed your reality is to observe the everything. The nothing. The breathing. The searching for something you’ll always have and never find. Blood beating. The drum of the hands. The hands of the meek come down and control the flock. The tribe of man grow smaller and smaller. Thinning numbers, the fire grows wild. The rampant devastation of society and what was once Devine. The opening, the gaping secret. It’s yours if you are here to play. Don’t think twice. Just trust your instincts. Separate your mind from your reality. Breath. Breath deeper. It’s always constant, you’ll always be here.