Abducted soul, trying to recover it by reading a Rust Cohle knowledge scroll. Corrupted soul, trying to purify it by letting the conscious grow. Covered in darkness reciting monstrous tomes. Let my obscure words surge through your weak being. Akin to how Mozart sonnet's nourish me deeply. My endeavor for greatness encourages me weekly to outperform for the sake of it. I once kissed Satan's lips just to escape sin. Let the matrix of everything you know eclipse, the voyage back into the soulless abyss, even hellish beings know the cold exists. Who else do you know that can flow like this? My creative process is outright ridiculous. An antihero who has made darkness question light's significance. I am a walking paradox, banishing pharisees into the tesseract, known to all deities as the the terror box. Plucking your stagnation as I nuke you with cosmic radiation, the divine fire sedating your chronic inflammation; the rampant pain that savages crave. Don't you SEE, this is nothing but a language game, where I lay the foundation for both our madness to stay trapped at bay. I've lost the gaze to pierce into the spectrum you hide from others. It isn't true only the blinded suffer, just look at me; my smile poisoned by my crooked teeth-- Behold the imperfect sequence! Just like the sandman I come to every person sleeping, sprinkling into their crown the subservient meaning because after all they are just servants dreaming. They've yet to transcend their rank, they've yet to listen to the demented man, the seer that oversees our endless match; back and forth bouts where we aim a barrage of our weapons wrath's to prove to each other inherent worth. But, all we get is blanks, because our intent is not to hurt but purge. A shedding of our life source , serpent hearts originally sent for war. Alas, our rivalry has become the perfect course to find what we are each individually searching for. We have both learn to turn when the spiraling stairway of life veers off base. Only a child can hear God play, so rejoice and let the kid in you live anew. With the truth I speak on why the false must be listened to. I am like you, flesh that quivers too. Believe it or not, this sentinel's organs bleed. Yet I don't cry, a case of sentient dormancy. Not because it's not "man enough", after all even immortals weep and I-- am just a mortal being. I don't weep because I have seen what soldiers see when they are close to death. The provence that cloned my flesh and molded my skeleton into this ornamental form. Thinking back to my birth is such a mental chore, but its the one solace where splendor is pleasurable. So, don't ask me to measure you, when I'll rather pluck an angel's feathers nude; leave the wings bare to see them function bare bone. I'm aiming to convey something unknown, but with this task comes nothing but code. Let the monsters in your conscious unfold, repressing them is why they have taken hold. Your worry about breaking character is why you waste your clothes trying to disguise an already naked soul. Get sucked into the vacuum of a black hole, and make room for this battle. Truth of the matter is that I've always assumed you're the master. I'm but the pupil, who also is the lunatic asshole of this relationship. You love me? don't say such things. Love is a sailing ship back into the chaos of Bermuda's triangle, where you can stare into Lucifer's canthus, its void spewing nuclear cancer. The experiment we call death is just God trying to make humans live longer. I'm this universe's wanderer, walking along the passage of time, asking for a ride, as the whim of matter drags me aside, having me returning back to climbing the ladder of life-- an elaborate crime. I don't want to be divine, I just want to ride the saddle and die. Letting my mana just crystalize into whatever form is desired by whatever thing wishes life.
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