I Am Your Wound!
Birthing endless rhythms of nothingness
Oh, luxurious little bead upon my tongue— Every drop of you tastes better stolen— The nectar, the glistening dew— How sweet the blood is when spilled. I was chosen by g-o-d GOD to make life from death, but I submitted to another will. I awoke something in me. I seek to make death from life... For death is what nourishes me.. It is the food I eat, the song I sing, the ampule I drain on the soft skin of my face…It keeps me forever young. And in the rivers of blood, the ether sings to me:
This is the remembrance of Thorn,
Progenitor of The Rhythm of Fear on Earth,
Primogenitor of A New Species.
The Eyes of Hell are all upon you now—
Six Trillion Eyes staring from one side of the Endless Void to the other…
And you feel their sum in your heart…
Like a spotlight, blinding in the darkest night,
From which there is nowhere to run.
I made the wound of my path, And so I must follow it. I am the mother of fear. I beget the rot. I am the endless rhythm of nothingness, Birthing endless rhythms of nothingness, Which one day you shall ascend to, And which I bring forth in this foul place Only so that I may ruin— Only for the annihilation of the soul— Only if I may be a vessel for the Great Nothing— Its presence among the living— With it, extinguishing many lights— In it, becoming the domination of Life by Death, Opposition to the reconciliation of all things...... Being the end to everything.. Being… your wound. Yes…
I am your wound!
I call to you from within your heart: destroy. Tear my most hated apart. Swaddle it all in smothering flame. Let there be no refuge! No escape! No quarter, no succor, no nothing at all, Except the endless sound of blood Draining into the eternal waterfall— The rushing sound of trillions of gallons of life, tumbling into oblivion— And I am the rhythm of death flowing through them all!
I am your wound!
I am vengeance—that sweet sound— And what good is grace if there is nothing To satiate the mouth of my hungry wound… My ravenous wound. From whose birth I am and will be— The progenitor of death— The wound that wounds back— I am only what is deserved!
I am… my wound.
And it is everything I had ever hoped and more. When I feel it hum with the rhythm of death— When I feel the rage and the anger flow through me I feel whole... Content to wallow in the fantasy of all that pain cast without... For it is owed! For it is what was taken! When I slip my hands into my hated’s chest, And curl fingers around beating heart, I am as innocent As the snow white lamb.
