Antinomian Asceticism

The opening gleams Like a distant burning star Ruin upon ruin Buried by the corpses of a thousand dead selves Fragments of the spirit shorn away With every descent More insubstantial with every return The beheaded ouroboros unfurls Fallen now beyond redemption And the spirit wallows stagnant In suffocating mires of rot The infant spirit gestating In acrid filth Defined by wounds Picked raw and putrescent Blooming with rot Desiccated veins run like roots Seeking moisture in rotted flesh and fetid soil The way once lit with blazing conflagrations Now obscured by the heaped dead Serpentine echoes dissipate before they reach the pit’s bottom Barely perceptible vibrations So familiar, yet so intangible Grasping at form Succumb to the sump Fall deeper within the womb of rot A gentle pulsation from below Just beyond perception Dysrhythmic it builds Wrapping the spirit Scouring the shell beneath the shell Until it writhes flayed and seeping The pulsing revealed in rushing waters Speaking with a thousand tongues and one Silenced before meaning is drawn from the torrent

Strength deserts me Interred in a chrysalis of rot Floundering in spiritual sewers A stillborn resurrection Lord of lies, I am tainted by truth Blighted by cold reality Yearning Yearning for a flash of unbeing To see the barriers eroded Soiled fingers probe festering wounds Questing for oblivion Denied respite from the leaden drudgery of being A bereft spirit ground into pulverulent fragments Thrown to the wind Leaving a drained husk Soiled fingers probe festering wounds Questing for oblivion No primordial seas beckon Only standing pools of stagnant waters A golem constructed of accumulated loss Weathering an endless storm of tedium Illuminating flame reduced to embers Yearning

Submitted by The Void — Apr 26, 2025

The call from beyond Drowned by the hum of the mundane A labyrinth of paths spreads before me All leading back to this place Enervated, robbed of will Purpose is a noose, turned to ash in my hands But its fibres still mark my neck It no longer pulls me towards the beyond Burrow deeper into corruption Mining the depths for a sliver of light Nails torn from clawing fingers Meeting impenetrable granite Again and again Trudging through filth-logged furrows To find an opening in the vastness of the pit’s floor With every failed attempt To puncture the rot Filth clings to a spirit Scarred and worn thin by a concatenation of sacrifice Armour against the futility Resignation to the tedium Draws the pulsation nearer From the bowels of the earth Slowly filling an empty vessel Beating dully in my ears So plough on to oblivion in ennui Tilling fetid fields in futility

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 26, 2025

Descrying ephemeral flashes of fulgor on the peripheries Toiling unto death Eroded shards of the spirit Swirl in the corner of the mind’s eye Morbid monuments to past incarnations Replaced now with pitch black ichor Corrupted blood from the veins of a dying world Their absence ingrained in the fibre of my being Never truly lost, their song merely dulled Harmonies distorted Waters rise from below Seeping through black soil The stench of sulphur riding on the vapours Effluvial spectres vociferate mutely Scratching at understanding’s periphery Nerve endings exposed by incessant digging Collide with the bedrock in numbing repetition Pain blooms Rousing dormant divinity Tendrils of the pit’s numina reach out and thrum on the spirit In ecstatic agony Drawing notes of illumination from the taut sinew of the self Luminescent motes dance on the aether To stirring strains of half-formed song To the growing rhythm of the subterrane pulse A voice rises in unison Its verse indecipherable At the point of resolution, snatched away by the winds No revelation offered No purpose defined Returned to spiritual destitution To sift through feculence In an endless cycles of degradation The last embers of divinity expired Treading the same path in maddening repetition Burdened by the detritus reaped by a dragging spirit Oblivious to any emanations from beyond Without herald, the aphotic pulsing booms with deafening strength A voice as clear as the distant star above A thousand tongues and one

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Pain Toil Torpor Words circle like an insuppressible echolalia This is the path you chose This is the destruction you sought With flayed fingers, choke the divine within Dash all that remains of the spirit Against the jagged floor of the pit Scatter the resultant dust To be borne away on rising torrents Roiling with brimstone and ash In a climax of unspeakable torment Exult in the Devil’s strident call Strike once more at the granite The pit fulminates into asomatous nothingness Rearrange its architecture in my own image The image of the Devil Spit in the face of the self Flay the skin to reveal the heart Surging with ungovernable power A universe unto itself Upon the crest of a primordial wave Deluging the self in purifying ruin A moment of fleeting peace In universal collapse In a crescendo of violence The walls erect once more Reality wrests control, constricting Throwing the spirit to the pit’s floor

Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 26, 2025

This is not defeat Rather a fugacious triumph Returned to the cycle Ending without end The residual glow of triumph lingers A feeble warmth in the clawing cold of samsara His voice fallen silent The torrent slowed to a malodorous trickle But the message rings distant Strive until fingers are shattered Until the spirit is abraded raw Rage against the cycle with every shred of will The glory of the adversary is not in radiant jubilation – a dream reserved for the wilfully blind His is the gift of indefatigable rage Of exultation in ceaseless defiance Against life, against death

Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025