Blasphemy Made Fresh
Oh what a gal! She seems such a perfect victim: This I can tell, for if beauty be guilt, she's guilty Ordinarily, I'd not wish to frighten her or hurt her, But such beauty inspires one to give the gift of murder She's the kind of girl you want to Run up to and tackle Through a window some floors up And splatter you both to hell O most luscious cenobite, you wield your whip as though it were another appendage; Favor me with pleasure-pain, rip me with your claws Chew me with your saw-toothed cunt Dead eyes alive with darkness to match their sockets, they blaze with unmatched cruelty Leave those long thorns embedded in your scalp, They look stuck in far enough to hurt You're not emoting: one of us will have to dig deeper; These are my cheek nails: Penetration, though unclean, can make you bleed in so many interesting ways; I rend your flesh and caress your fears as you weep Human tragedy... Let this be a lesson to you, it's symbolic Let this dirt define your grave Make them hate you, rotting cleric... Remember, you are pus of my loins, you are pus Give voice to your left side, let me in: I've sawn the seeds of your redemption; In subhumanicide, I am your guide: seventy-seven times make them die The sun is shining on a brand new day Blackened corpses smolder where they slain; Self-flagellation prompts him to confess: Bless me father, for I made this mess As I tear apart the dead things I annoint them with my seed Open Face Surgery: short on pain and long on masquerade Ounce by ounce, lose a little weight- nip here, tuck there... So who needs eyelids And then we fucked it...
Submitted by Lake of Tears — May 09, 2026