2021-03-20 21:18:16
It is I
The accursed
The condemned
The damned
The hated
The wretched
The unmartyred
The divorced
The emptied
The prophet.
The prophet of nihilism and insanity.
Oh but how can they stab my soul and show their faces?
Darkened melancholy breaking their fragile vases
How can I slip out of their horrid embraces
And lead my soul to brighter places?
Why not plunge a sword down my throat and end this misery
Why won't this diabolic black shape stop following me?
The irrevocable process of eternal decay has begun
A color of infinite darkness has surrounded the sun
I had to look up just to witness the horrors of hell
I had to search for silence to hear the blackest of bells
Drained of all his blood, the angel screamed at me
He forced a nail down my eye and helped me truly see
See the black in your soul
The hate in your eyes
The rage in your heart
The blood in your veins
And in this wasteland I found a beatific flower...
A dark rose exempt from the blessed kiss of the grim reaper
Worms came out of its delicate heart
Darkness emanated from the blackest corners of its petals
A satanic choir echoed from the depth of its decaying leaves:
"The seeds of my bitter fruit have taken your smile away
The poison of my thorns has led your soul astray!
The seeds of my bitter fruit have taken your smile away
The poison of my thorns has led your soul astray!
The seeds of my bitter fruit have taken your smile away
The poison of my thorns has led your soul astray!"
#poem
139 viewsSpectre, edited 18:18
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