This is what I saw
A young girl -Just a child, standing on one of the stones
This etheric figure, so pure in her beauty, holding a strange object and smiling at me sardonic smile
With no compa**ion
She is pregnant, bearing a child for the One-Horned God
Walking unwillingly the cold corridors of Inverted Palace
Her reverence rest upon the fatigue of unchanging days spent in silence
Apathy of all
We who watch her sorry wandering learn to know that this cannot be - A child born into empty arms
The embrace of the soon-to-be-dead-mother
And when the Beast returns, it means only another orgy of violence and acrimony
Circle neverending
The darkness raping the sweet sunlight
Pearls given to the swine
The world full of ravenous ba*tards
The children dressing themselves for a funeral feast
The politicians eating the sh** of angels
This is it
This all
The mystery of subsistence
Like Adam and Eve in their cheap paradise, tasting the fruits of Pa**ion
Milk from the breasts of Lilith. This is the true Forbidden Fruit
This gift of Witchcraft
We are returning to paradise. Crawling back into the lifeless wombs of our mothers
To dwell there
Hidden enjoyments. Pleasures of new-born love. The first time you touch the purity of a cadaver. Haunting trips
To ancient graveyards where the stench of d**h is still present
Under the wicked eye of moon there truly is nothing so rich and tender than the corpse of someone who never felt
Carnal fulfillment when alive. Feel no fright to join this beautiful experience of necrophilia, because secrets
Hunger for solutions
Funereal mind games practised in quiet rooms of satanic boarding schools, where boys become men, caressing
Each other again and again
I am so glad to be one with you my appalling father, in the eve of my first exposure of secrets
Rivers running upstream, back to the mountains where Gods guard the mortal world
Words of simplicity covered with mysteries. Hiding the truth behind symbols of old age
Secrecy and illusion. Bullsh** written in golden letters. Poetry you call it, and how I do love this poetic
Playground. I among others raising myself to the cla** of adepts -Keepers of the keys to the Treasure-House of
Noble mysteries. The urns containing the ashes of the brains of great men. Mere insects
It all begun when I was just an infant, and nothing more than a mindless easygoing fool, without knowledge
Whatsoever. The first step was the understanding of withering -how we all have the destiny of turning to dirt
Should you want to follow me, break the chains of this useless plane of reality where everything is controlled by
Laws of coercion. Let your dreams rule
Turning to the moon
Turning to the sun