...and if I am as beautiful as your words portray, then journey through their hell. Journey through the crooked caverns and youth devouring thorns. Journey as the flesh flays and the joyful expressions are lifted from your face. Wish me in hell. Is this hell to you? "Blessed o' ye Childless One, bleed forth so that we may drink of your ambrosial pain." Lack the desire to breed yet desire the act, the act of advancing and staining silk and cotton. As if I were beautiful, no more than a frightening image to intimidate the Uninitiated, the Sheltered and the Lacking. You... as my encouragement to proceed with trials and tribulations. Cliches and contradictions and the overbearing desire to lash you, lash you to your pearly gates.
Succulent, the copper taste. The shadows of eternal dusk. The pits covered anew and the visitations. Bodies everywhere... how many decayed corpses do I walk upon and how many innocents have been stolen from us? Would they themselves have learned to kill? Dismemberment, a grimace-vision along with the disinterred, in a cage, a Freudian reasoning for confinement, for s**ual ambiguity, Easter colored by a lunar needle and surgical steel grin. When she peers over the edge, looking, looking...
(Succulent, the copper taste. The shadows of eternal dusk. The pits covered anew and the visitations. Bodies everywhere...)
...expecting fly-fed death to lie stinking and festering below. "It is not uncommon. It happens all the time." Maggots anchor themselves, thriving opaque glares, emptiness, pain save me, the Child of the Childless One.
Succulent, the copper taste. The shadows of eternal dusk. The pits covered anew and the visitations. Bodies everywhere... how many decayed corpses do I walk upon and how many innocents have been stolen from us? Would they themselves have learned to kill? Dismemberment, a grimace-vision along with the disinterred, in a cage, a Freudian reasoning for confinement, for s**ual ambiguity, Easter colored by a lunar needle and surgical steel grin. When she peers over the edge, looking, looking...
(Succulent, the copper taste. The shadows of eternal dusk. The pits covered anew and the visitations. Bodies everywhere...)
...expecting fly-fed death to lie stinking and festering below. "It is not uncommon. It happens all the time." Maggots anchor themselves, thriving opaque glares, emptiness, pain save me, the Child of the Childless One.