Forget the Colours
Sun wearing death clothes today While I play the corpse, don’t crave for man solidarity just for courage of dying, took for it down in my countryside all along those slimy bogs or within the rugged rind of slumbering trees. Calling death with all the breath that’s left, grand exount an histrionic gesture and the mask is off, my farewell script a last poem is laid. One more final chance to get you into my spirit. And the storm overhangs.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
Drunk of Evil Hatred unleashed Awesome overload If with only a gesture all those memories be extinguished, still once more the ironic chemistry does not obey. Now that everything’s mistaken And nothing does remain But still old magma With no eyes to gush out. in a blasting pressure hate every tree flower street our light did once touch. Darkness’ psalmodies resound And nothing more but hate primordial irrational childish. Thirst that needs murder, heart been torn apart. Me and him in a killing light disintegrated. Hatred for you all Busy performing in a difficult living art. Wish to being almighty Wish to being God Just to rub the fucking planet out of the whole universe. Still into the mirror I glance And I see myself in impotence torn away from warmth, my silent eyes deny no one shall I kill. Overwhelming stream Moral fascination No resistence I oppose Just carries me away.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
What a feat sailing queerly like Icarus until the tempest undid me and I broke (Anne Sexton, from “The Break”, 1969) You took me high and away soaring into wide open spaces dreadfully diving down skimming over ‘the waves in a stormy sea. Like a child in front of Death firmly I held in your bewitching embrace not to let, you slip away. Yet now everything’s still Castin’ words and tears away. But your false angel wings will be torn apart. Backlash of the past.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
Bisturi esislenziale Lucid Sorrow Anima grondante Bluish the blood Misantropia reattiva Love denied Imprisoned Into undodgeable conscience Into self-analytical cruelty I winter Like a rose by lifeless eyes devoured Have me Caught amidst your flesh soft folders And give me life
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
The fairies are dead no light no light no light There is no light no light no light R Deinococcus Radiodurans Duemila Tanatologia psicologica Alle theologie ist psycologie
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
Thousand times And more I put your murder into scene, as if to satisfy my plasmic death wish. To kill a ghost would do nocturnal masturbations slashed in slo-mo my inner screen in there you raped. Yet not enough! Feminine, flooding out juicy on my fiery tongue slush and mush blond sex drips.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
Dirty mirror Grey face there resigned Yet another bitter thrill to swallow white safe in tranguit dreams last loves, lie never possesed. Hanging about the lifeless wet city, Looking for a reason to smile, Grinning among scum and Bitches a fight engaged vs Evil. By apy means we try the eyes exploding Share a reef at 5.00 am with a transsexual standing humanity dignified his caricatural ways, a firewell with a Kiss, on adulterate cheeks whole grotesque the night weights down on me. De fierro, de encorvados tirantes de enorme fierro tiene que ser la noche, para que no la revienten y la desfonden las muchas cosas que mis abarrotados ojos han visto, las duras cosas que insoportablemente la pueblan. […]Toscas nubes color borra de vino infamarán el cielo; amanecerá en mis párpados apretados. (Jorge Luis Borges, from “Insomnio”, 1936)
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
Guai a voi, Scribi e Fansei ipocriti; perchè il di fuora lavate def bicchiere e del piatto; al di deniro poi siete pieni di rapina e d’immondezza. Fanseo cieco, lava poma il di dentro del calice e del piatto, onde anche il di fuora diventi mondo. Guai a voi, Scribi e Fansei ipocriti; perché siete simili ai sepolch imbiancati, che al di fuori appariscon belli alia gente, ma dentro pieni sono di ossa di morti e d’ogni sporcizia. (Matteo XXIII, 25-27) Your safety is uselessness You, butterflies demon-rapers Virtue arraved reek affability and reality. Never born, your words protect the worms of no-lite, exude humanity by lies. Carcass enlivened by no-pain. Your scum is nothing but mud. And I truly hate you.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026
Je me suis enfui. Ô sorcières, ô misère, ô haine, c'est à vous que mon trésor a été confié! Je parvins à faire s'évanouir dans mon esprit toute l'espérance humaine. Sur toute joie pour l'étrangler j'ai fait le bond sourd de la bête féroce. J'ai appelé les bourreaux pour, en périssant, mordre la crosse de leurs fusils. J'ai appelé les fléaux, pour m'étouffer avec le sable, le sang. Le malheur a été mon dieu. Je me suis allongé dans la boue. Je me suis séché à l'air du crime. Et j'ai joué de bons tours à la folie. Et le printemps m'a apporté l'affreux rire de l'idiot. (Arthur Rimbaud, from Une Saison en enfer, August 1872) Messiah, of new bleakness Now that every star is dead As every door is shut There comes sorrow Scoffing at all my foolish sublimations. Just one kiss does more. Than any lack of memories. Now take me dreadful fire… Burning any remain of mercy in my misplaced spirit Fill up my eyes black light So that I can truly forget the colours, rip off canvas of all those springs that never more will come back I’ll slat clumsy soliloquies drenched in hope, my ridiculous dream I’ll kill.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 17, 2026