Rudiments of Mutilation

Hands quake in ceaseless vibration in view of all that was and all that will be. Crystalline in it's resplendence. Repugnant in it's ugliness. The dichotomy of all that is lush and rotten. Tincture of lament, burden of empathy. We weep in guilt. Thy coven, denied. Thy vessel, deserted.

I've made it months, even years in solitude's embrace, and Nothing has shown me what I cannot create. Stuck on this compendium of mortality, a line without a flaw. I can never bring the life back to his withered breast. Dead at 18 years, now my head's a fucking mess. Everyone is waiting for the end of the line, immutable truth. There is nothing that can take what is dead. There is nothing that can take what is dead and make it green. There is nothing that can take what is dead and convince it to grow. Vessel is deserted. Capillaries dry. The world soldiers onward. The line is absolute. Dirt holds no sway over me.

Submitted by Immortal — Apr 26, 2025

The larynx croaks inward devotion. An existence hewn from varicose flesh. Palatal tones pass dimly outward from a slurred and careworn wretch's mouth. Bereft of love, self inflicted. The molded image of a crippled whelp. Marked with a benign crow's foot and wallowing in placidity. and from the same loam, I was borne and cut. A wicked lich, spiraling senseless. Caustic pariah. Pitch smeared visage. Boring through you.

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 26, 2025

Glowing hearts truly glow as marrow cooks and boils through wire thin fractures tensed by plangent torridity. Charred bodies marred in undersized beds, reaching for their mothers in vacuous pain. Eyes shine, wax and wane. Cherub arms snap as laden boughs in the heat. Forty years of unbending faith unwinding. Stagger in the wondrous smell of burning hair. Gas escapes from withering cavities. Nerves howl and ache in such sweet melody. Inhale ash. Exhale lung fiber. Eyes shine, wax and wane. Cherub arms snap as laden boughs in the heat. Forty years of unbending faith unwinding. Stagger in the wondrous smell of burning hair. God bless.

Submitted by Immortal — Apr 26, 2025

Jaundiced skin pulled taught over bones, worn as thin as opaque papyrus. Scrap and pull at empty ends as the constant din of static swells. Methadone gasp in bitter silence, unrequited and unbeknownst. Gaping cavern to swollen lymph nodes. Five pounds of flesh to a life of unrest. A goliath, a Judas, a hellion, invidious. Indigent mudlark, cadaverous dweller. C'est la vie, c'est la mort. There's no picking up the pieces when your back is pushed against the wall. No climbing back into the grace of a society with hooded eyes. Rest your head on callous pavement, charity and love are farce. Thousands of eyes gaze right through you, an occulus to their own indifference. C'est la vie, c'est la mort. Five pounds of flesh to a life of unrest.

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 26, 2025

Probing in the sickly heat of the humid night. Aching. Lidless eyes in the dark, wide and omniscient, coax along the cadaverous mass of ligament and hair. Raid in the street. Stolen innocence. Godless species. Lowly tryst. Lecherous moon. Fucked to death in the street. No meaning. No answers. No God left to save your soul. No meaning. No answers. The end.

Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 26, 2025

Hatred grows in inches. This rotten body, this rotten world, these putrid soles won't take me. Lay these shit bones down to rest. In regret and resplendence. A singularity, a moving point. Humming and quaking. Broken, in stasis. Devoid. Malcontent. Split wrists and pale eyes. A being repellent of life. Hatred grows. I want out of this empty hull. There is no life here for my wretched soul. This rotten body, this rotten world, these putrid soles They won't take me, but I can take myself. I can take myself. I want out.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 26, 2025

Split skin spread in fetid lacework Babylon in crusted sea brine. In opulence, he weeps and slumbers. Asseteague son, long begotten. Cryptic jeremiad in circles, melange of ruinous copse. Self destructive self denial, pleasure wasted from within. They moan, they whisper, they shake when they breathe. They crawl, they weep, they croak when they speak. They moan, they whisper, they shake when they breathe. With new orifices made, they shudder with relief.. They moan.

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 26, 2025

"Come thou fount of every blessing" Ichor of the human pulse. Flow forth with no abandon. Suffering tortured beasts. Empathy dulled under ages of wearing, through wailing and howling, incessantly blaring. Murdering lambs, unknowing. Eating the hearts of your children. Burying mothers, alive. Wandering in contempt of life.

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 26, 2025

A dead sun burns over a grey and blue iris. Slumbering no longer, sinking feverish before a lunar face. A dead sun shatters us all. Murder lambs, unknowing. Eat the hearts of your children. Bury mothers, alive. Wander, in contempt of life. A dead sun shatters.

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 26, 2025