The Nanodemonic Curse
Think of It, in there...
Think of It, in there... —The curse, Wrapped and nestled in loose and leaching coil, Spilling poison into everything It touches, Tearing through membrane and sinew and epithelial tissue Penetrating blood and barrier, Venomous tide swimming in the fluid of thy weakened skull… You feel that sense of mythos, behind you, That sense of wistlessness, The great dark tunnel drawn around the senses, The muffled speech of a voice that says:
Despair is your master
It is the void from which you come
You cannot kill despair,
You cannot outrun it,
You will seek it endlessly.
This is the clamor of tiny strings— Which rattle together from deep inside the body— Singing out from every crevice— Forming the wall that stops the death of poison, So that It may seek space Among the roots of thy teeming brain. The Nanodemonic curse— A sirens call— Amid all the other lingering omens and hexes, It is legion— Unavoidable— Holding court in all places, Recruiting spies in every realm, Omnipresent, omnipotent A ravenous, invisible plague— It will consume until there is nothing left. The Nanodemonic Curse: Blight spewing through the ether-fabric, Halving life's essence, Disgorging pollutant in endless flow— Malleable and potently metamorphic— Size enough to wriggle into all things, Size enough to cast planetary shadow— Scrambling and stilting and mutating life's function, Until all forms are perverse like Itself— Unnatural like Itself— Corruptions of form like Itself— Held like this, In faux-diamond coil, It is refractory— It too is tainted at Its core— Borne by the shadow of arrogance— Death magick made flesh, Summoned by the greatest bloodletting there ever was, That great reaping and selling of souls— Yet another leviathan raised from dust, Another scourge upon all life, Another horseman in a sea of horsemen, Each more existential than the next, And It rides with the power of command. For It is everywhere, deep and far and in between And It is nowhere, close and surface and outside of, And It is the unknown fester that eats away at life itself Calling and urging with voidal mouth, Beckoning shadow, which sayeth to thee only:
Despair is your master,
It is the void from which you come.
You cannot kill despair,
You can only name it
Douse yourself, in its sea.
And though you could not see It, Even now It squirms Through the flesh and the blood and the muscle of your body; You are infiltrated By the slow and creeping specter of this inorganic death— Until every heart and soul and chakra, Each blessing and curse of your essence, Is rendered neutered, sluggish, mutated, deficient in capacity. The curse seeks the slow death, the wallowing. To trap all life in the maw of fetid, chemical swamp. To languish in the slow descent. To dance among the visions and the horrors and the wake of the null onset, A breathing of the cursed air, As all becomes indistinguishable from rot.
