"Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell" - John Milton Let me into The world outside Let me endure The shame I found Stillborn and blind With none to blame The angels sigh So it has to ends I let it hammer my body into bitter bliss Dismissed is the gist once meant to persist The shell is safe But air is poison inside With none to understand Locked to abandoned ground Ruptured my heart To vent my pain It reeks of blight So it has to end I let it hammer my body into bitter bliss Dismissed is the gist once meant to persist In the fist of the mist where I'm bound to exist My name is still fixed to the top of the list Anger... The tome of naught As to live is to survive God is liquid God is smoke And God is all around A simple body thus torn to life A simple agony to feel as I writhe A simple ending to know as I die... Stay away... Stray away... Rupture is the Cult of the anguished Rupture is the Cult of the vain Rupture is the Cult of the lustrous Rupture is the Cult of the brain Rupture is the Cult of the beaten Rupture is the Cult to align Rupture is the Cult of the sentence Rupture is the Cult to confine Anger... The tome of naught As to live is to survive God is liquid God is smoke And God is all around