For the Love of All Gods

Castle burning on water

Weeks have gone by
Since you stole the color from my life
And imbued souls undeserving
With a sunrise they could never comprehend;
And I, venerated above such trifles
By gods, titans, and demons,
Have deigned to feel your suffering,
To deliver unto you ascendancy
Into a dimension surreal and provocative;
But you would distort me with your mutagen,
All the while professing truths
That you systemically deny,
Enabling a festering corruption
To warp you into a numbed fabrication.
You wade through filth to prove your points,
Which adulterate you in reparation;
Like this you subscribe to asceticism,
But your throes do not invoke absolution,
Only further transgression.
Would I could rescue you
From this punishment you have endured immemorial—
Like a diseased Ouroboros—
But I have fired every bullet in my gun,
Sacrificed every bone in my body,
Appealed to every god whose name I know,
And still your willful incognizance
Usurps your kingdom with absolute dominance,
So, in my cursed transcendence
I will leave this kingdom to be razed
And keep my eyes heavenward,
All the while the smell of the ashes
Rising beneath me like tendrils
To infect my nostrils
And remind me of the ruin I left behind.


The Sins We Cannot Forgive


Art by Tab109

In spite of the pomp and confidence
You exude every waking moment,
Your silence is baffling;
Nary a sound slips from your tongue,
At least not in my presence,
Because your words are reserved
For the debased and debauched
Who would only drag your soul
To the depths of a hell you think you crave.
When once we were soldiers,
Commanding nothing but our private legion—
Because we needed nothing or no one else—
You personified nobility,
And not a person who laid eyes upon you
Could ever deny it;
But your eyes lay not on me any longer,
And whether it’s because of your sin or guilt,
You cannot bear to look me in mine,
Perhaps for fear you will expose your shame
Even as you feign contentment.
But I’ve seen into your soul, friend,
And no reassurance or prose
Will convince me of your state;
You are damned, shackled to a fate
That you have only yourself to blame for,
And though God may forgive all sins,
We are not in heaven and I am not God.



Art by Aeon Lux

Never will you understand my delight
That you have denied your spirit’s light,
In succumbing to the malnutrition
That emaciates your soul.
Now that puerility has dominated your will
And you have exposed yourself to animosity,
I shall take hold of your mind, your ego,
Crushing your psyche in my visceral palm.
I will decimate you in ways you never conceived
And render the years you spent
Wading in the garbage of self-loathing
A distant memory of pleasant days long past.
Yes, you are mine now,
And you will waste your days in chambers
Where your misery festers and drags you down
To the seventh circle of hell;
There I will smile, there I will revel
In the pillar of stress that has ruptured your heart,
And you will never escape this despondency
Because you’re too weak to fight.

Cyanide Demons


There is nothing more akin to hell on Earth
Than watching the mutations of friends,
Into fiends horrific and despondent,
And knowing you possess no power,
No jurisdiction
Over their descent into disparity.
You can only lay your eyes on them
And their radiance
As it is snuffed out,
Blotted by an ugliness unfathomable,
Inciting self-destruction, self-denial,
And acceptance of everything corrupted.
This is not what you committed yourself to,
Pledged your loyalty to,
Sacrificed your soul to;
No, your immolation was meant to nourish them,
Watch them grow into angels greater than God,
Not for them to distort into cyanide demons
Who infect everyone in their presence
And vindicate themselves with prevarication and sin.
You’re helpless, heartbroken,
As this spectacle plays out before you,
And you’re unable to remove yourself,
For the infinitesimal chance they could be saved
And ascend once more.

Humans > Gods

World hand

Dereliction and nascence
Couldn’t keep us apart;
We are, like Caelus and Terra,
Forever entwined, and boundless.
Not so long ago complete strangers,
Unaware that complements to our egos
Existed out in the subterranean ether,
We are now forces of nature
So terrifying the gods tremble.
Alas, our power is for naught;
Together we could rule the world,
Bend legions to our will,
And neither the Seraphs
Nor the Olympians
Could oppose the strength
Of our sheer willpower.
With my intellect
And your ambition,
Not to mention the raw talent
That seethes from our auras,
We would be truly unstoppable;
Yes, we could have so much fun together
If you would be a human,
But you’ve chosen to remain a zombie,
And those that are lifeless
Forfeit their power.

Tearful, She Asked Why it Ended Like This

Family split

When a man and a woman fall in love,
Sometimes the world turns against them;
What they have is so beautiful, so pure,
All the ugliness in this hedonistic realm
Conspires to tear them down,
Rip them apart,
And conflagrate the remnants of their union.
There is nothing redemptive in this—
No moral to learn or silver lining—
Just the fact that you will feel pain,
Tears will be shed,
And those who would seek to watch you suffer
Will be elated with all they have stolen.
If there was ever proof that the devil is real,
My dear, this is it;
But if that evil exists, so does the good.
So yes, there will be pain and tears and sorrow,
Hatred and rage, and you, the victim.
But always you can choose how to face it,
Whether you want to run and hide
Or stand and weather the storm,
Feel the hurt, the sorrow,
Let every tear soil the ground
And watch a flower grow from it.
If you are strong enough to pluck it up
And lift it to the Sun,
Perhaps you will find something beyond the pain—
Something redemptive or a silver lining—
And realize
That no matter what the ugliness of this world inflicts upon you,
It cannot smother your beauty, your spirit.
You are God.

The Whore of Dysphoria


Artwork by Dominuself

With the stresses of your delusion
Fueled by today’s prevarication
Fresh on my mind but far from my soul,
I can confess all to your deaf ears:
You are the epitome of misery—
Everything wrong with me;
Each time I feel I have escaped your clutch,
A new chain binds me down,
Sapping my potential, draining my spirit.
These months I spent grieving
Have proven in vain; there is no hope for you;
And after countless weeks of medication,
I can at long last say I care nothing for you.
The power that drove you to delinquent orgasm
Has no command over my well-being,
No dominance over my state-of-mind,
And no effect on my will.
I have risen above, if through apathy,
To conjure the beasts of your destruction:
Rise! rise! Pandemonium;
Come, and suckle your host’s nourishment
Until what remains is emaciated and horrid—
The core of a package so beautiful from without—
Exposing the false pretenses sliding off her silver tongue.
When you have wreaked your bedlam,
I will transcend this maleficence she has instilled
And, beyond the firmament,
Embrace something worth cherishing,
Something worth my time,
Something worth waking up for.

A Beautiful Existence, Fleeting

Near death silhouette

You are not a possession.
You do not belong to me or any other;
You belong to yourself,
And who you choose to dole out grace to
Is just that: a choice.
For as much power as you wield,
You cannot prevent the world’s pain,
And in the end, there will be obliteration.
Woe for this apocryphal regime
I alone elected into power,
Knowing full well the gambit I took;
But what choice was there, really,
In light of your necromancy—
Resurrecting me, even if for yourself?
You had attributed my altruism to kindness,
But I have never claimed to be a good man,
And I attest now I am no such thing;
I am selfish, seeking to extend this life—
This fleeting blessing you bestowed—
And though you would never admit it,
You know the truth.
Despite the sheer terror that subjugates my spirit,
I thank you still,
But as I learn time and again,
Life does not last,
And in the end death will always conquer.
At least it was a beautiful life.

Personal Atlas

Atlas silhouette

I am your personal Atlas,
Holding up your entire world,
The weight of your burdens,
The onus that drives you to tears
And sends you reaching for escape;
But never do I mind,
Because I cherish this world
You have thrust upon me,
Entrusted to me to protect
And keep moving every second.

Am I your personal Atlas?
I feel you pulling away,
Slipping from my grip,
Soon to roll away from this—
Your anchor—
Onto the back of another,
Or perhaps in your own orbit,
Free and unsupported
While I outlive my purpose
And stare in awe.

I am still your personal Atlas,
Lifting you up as you fall again,
Weighed down by your world’s pollution;
The inhabitants of your lands
Have ripped you apart, desecrated you,
But still I am here to hold you up,
Never crushing you myself,
Never using this position as leverage
To take possession of your beauty
Or hold you down from your potential.

I was your personal Atlas,
But I am he no longer,
Replaced by another,
Or perhaps substituted for open space.
You circle your own source of light,
Rotating from light to darkness,
But in both states, breathtaking;
In the shadow of Tartarus I watch,
As you drift, guided by the pull of your light,
No longer requiring my support, my anchor.


Alone in the world

Artist: Gabriel Maurano

The panic sets in:
My breaths stifle
As if someone is standing on my lungs;
My bones tremble
As though frozen to the marrow;
My heart beats faster
As if it at any second it will burst.
Everything within me
Tells me to run,
To lash out, to scream,
To point a finger,
To lay blame,
So that I might be vindicated;
But in truth, I know
There is not always someone to blame,
There is not always wrongdoing,
And though the knowledge
Does not assuage the pain,
Resorting to hatred
Will only fester more distance.
The panic sets in,
Just like it has before,
Just like it will again,
And standing aghast
In the face of this dread—
This insurmountable loneliness—
I will defy these machinations
That have warped my mind
And, never reaping reward,
I will still prove that I’m something more
Than anything you’ve seen before.