A downward spiral into the clutches of Daemons suits my mood and defines
my future.
There is an exquisite moment in the removal of your flesh when pain
becomes sublime pleasure and you hunger for each cut.
The body seeps blood while the soul weeps misery, together they congeal
on the floor of life.
A blackness forms and waits ... waits for your presence ... waits for
you to fall,
While it grows and consumes all, life becomes existence, hope becomes
despair.
Welcome, welcome, welcome to a place where Swallows never fly and
flowers never bloom.
It is a place of deep, dark crevices and carefully crafted lies, made to
hide reality from prying eyes,
Where fragile corpses stumble and fall, whilst gazing upon Daemons for all
eternity.
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