In Aloof Lantern, Thy Bequeathed A Wailer Quietus
They remembered... 3 butchers condemned to be an ancestral tale, 3 butchers marred, fuddled and sottish, voyaged the wrath.... 3 butchers, intonated for their treachery with carious laughs and requital... 3 butchers, homed sarcastically through the slumbered veil, did I daunt your grandeur? your fathomless fabled kingdom? How pathetic you are. A bosom’s reflection when she bowed, her tips never sung a solicitude.. Her emerald's none trespassed well; don’t you yearn for a wanton play? The drapery won’t ascend till your Angels attend; a plebeian anarchic quartet feeds my aristocrat’s suavity! A limped butcher furtively wandered, reluctantly, sat and dangled, touching his own old grey wrinkles, are this the paths where all children rot to corpses? Enkindle the lamps of centuries.... I know we are reciprocating... A mouth less howls, yet begot a climaxed spew to his ruptured entrails... Obey me, frivolous flesh ! How bleak are the gasping trees, half dyed rumpled wisp, she gazed drowsily and squirmy, burnt lubricated scalps purging their masqueraded blasphemous ignominy... Marching in-between... Into the abyss, the manacle acquiescent fountain, I’m lifeless!!! Your thirstiness won’t be quenched!! Though you can hear my purl... How pathetic you are!! Platonic whore...!! While he’s frisking desperately, the ankles flesh cheer despondently, elects the axes! I will commemorate wretchedness with thy sea’s altar, disembowel me viciously and stake his given ephemeral squalid carnal!! Rive it!! You blooded regrettable stigma... How miserable you are Unwell Aged Ocean... Amidst his weariful shores, you wept for thee, don’t forsake me waves? Once, we were 3 moons... Once, we were 3 butchers... Outside the pusillanimous half wide open windowpane, A Garrulous merriment gloats, why are you sewing me? Her skin ranted... I'm shrouding, please tolerant my needle scourging... Oh ocean... There is an Angel's funeral to condole, their blood... Will you lullaby for him?
Submitted by Grave666 — Jul 21, 2026
SUCCUMB ALL OF YOU SCUMS!! Phalanx! Grind your trepan and reap... Destined goats at the clemency of blowtorch sanguinary Disfigured hooked skins, pulverized ribs, wrung pelvis... Emasculated, brand their genitals, genocidal decree... Courteous cadet!! Ornament their uprooted eyes in pot shaped grotesque, plunged in stench viscera... Opulent anthropophagi... There is an auction for scurvy pouring fleshes... Got your cleaver and chop, whereon your blade ravishes... An orgasmic sluggish vivisection, patiently, dress in their skeletons... Art fanciers... A menu of annals and vulvas, whet your teeth and nails... Enter the gallery of remaining blood, secretions and souls... Molest the anguish... Lads!! Inherit, the searing moors, the winter is fraught with shriving snows... I’ve wrung a myriad of carrions, their bones were my hilarity.. They divulged bashfully, I wept loathly, Enshroud them with frost, where morte and I hellishly recited, the passage amulets... These pedestals are cold... Grope their tenuous features, doomed and suffered... They gave me a torch... Here is your naked gift... Though I have no hands... Hath seen no hope... ? Wooing aster, lead me where I may harvest... Hath seen no sight... ? The mirage, the drought, the comprehension of aberration, And shades birth... On tottering monolith I heard the congregates tintinnabulation, Sentenced to crawl, bereft of light, purging in mortal pus... Morte, are you there? The rusty portals creak, grisly... Imperturbable onerous tread... The garden chaffs, where the anarchic nightingales woke up dread... I’m affronting his indomitable nonentity sleep, How lonesome is my morte... Bathing in redolent, wailing his loftiness... It burnt, it burnt, it burnt... Thousands, hundreds, millions... Just stride in and oblate your skin... My crematorium My crematorium My crematorium My crematorium My crematorium My crematorium My crematorium
Submitted by Grave666 — Jul 21, 2026