Coffins on Io

I. Every angel that drips from the faucet into the sink Tumbles down the drain And deep into the ground The choirs resound in an empty room as Angels seep into the earth And no one noticed this coffin heaving These earthen boards thick with deceiving Every Every angel that drips from the faucet in to the sink Tumbles down down the drain And deep into the ground The choirs resound in resound in an empty room as Angels seep into the earth And no And no one no one noticed this coffin heaving These earthen boards thick Thick with deceiving And And it swallowed Up Up the spirit In the mire Of division As man As mankind Looked on and glutted itself Upon derision trampled underfoot The seeping of the soil As man As mankind looked on and grumbled ever Louder with the toil of every day and every year And every century And it swallowed up the spirit In the mire of division As mankind looked on and Glutted itself upon derision Trampled underfoot, the seeping of the soil As mankind looked on and grumbled Ever louder with the toil Of every day and every year And every century Lost in thought Or thought is lost On the creeping multitude of heaven They could never see beyond And so there was nothing beyond to see One after the next for ever and ever Stepping over the statues of gods Lying broken in the streets like tyrants II. The cynical heart too oft forgot Its blood in course of vein As circulated phantoms drain from Spout to sink to silence And vigilance betrayed by neglect But uttered not in defiance Sleep, the uncloaked sleep of doves In mortality Drawing down the shade of years Over the monstrosity Shutting the lids and shutting the sight Bridging the break and shunning the life The Earth entire has become a wasteland A marsh intense, a swamp of flatland Not so flat as desolate And deep with poison and with regret I cry aloud as I am pull’d beneath And a body hangs over the shower rod Like a towel left out to dry Drips call out their protest to a dark and empty room Sadness decorates the silence As a gathering of the gloom My cries are the echoes of a long-lost suicide An angel bleeding out, a dove that has died

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 25, 2025

Broken glass under a poison half-moon On some shattered highway that goes nowhere at all Wraps around its prey like a concrete serpent in the acid rain With fangs fastened around my throat I choke on the fumes as the world in a blur Falls away but leaves me clouded and hollow Blood on my hands, and a thing in the backseat That used to be human Flying on the highway, trying to outrun me Drained of thought, but the broken glass, it haunts me Glittering like gems or sparkling like evil rainfall That turns to steam in the heat Ugly, hot, and shaking With the thing in the backseat It seeps through the plastic shroud… As I push the needle faster and further Coronas around the judging eyes of streetlights Mad with thirst, almost enough to lap up iridescent rain Just a little further, but the pupils of night are diminishing Subtle By the time the smog sets in to eat away the morning I should be somewhere, praying that I’m dreaming

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 25, 2025

The weight of murder fills the sky A neon shadow rising up like vespers From the haze that burnt away The peeling painted stratosphere Newspaper blowing by on a shriveled shred of apathy A chronicle of missing persons Only I know where I left the parts of them A night-time fantasy in action A knife that bled the life of faceless passion I watched the moon all cold and icy Suspended far above the severing I separated the spirit from unwilling flesh, and bound The body in a city’s sorrow But no one cares about the broken Flickering in summer air Stinking in suffocating breeze I will wear a mask of normal To hide my mask of orgasmic shame The cars on fire on the sides of the naked street They light my way, they free me As I crawl back into my concrete cavern

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 25, 2025

Suffer the gulf Of a hundred million years The sand that buried centuries The burden that drew its shadow long That tried in vain to hide unfathomed He drew the pictures of his dreams Mechanically Unlocked the shrine withdrawn Threw open doors unmade Remembering elusive shade In pieces, like knives of sleep— It leaves the soul in ruins A body is only a garment useable Forgettable He in me and I in he… I was given my way back Unmercifully I sliced through millennia But I left my record written In distorted hand In alien archives whispering Buried in the sands of centuries

Submitted by Warbringer — Apr 25, 2025

Eat from the hand of Woman The Wise The Tempting The centuries of castigation— Defeat rose up from a beautiful gloom It twisted itself around a tree Like a love around a love It so loved mankind it fastened Its fangs onto his neck And it killed him with its poison He sank into the earth No ghost to haunt the wicked Nor to enlighten the strong The beautiful gulf fades away It leaves a bounty untouched A treasure box of Pure

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 25, 2025

The fragile photograph cracked and tortured— Forgotten in its box in the attic amidst A ponderous flood of memories The broken lines on her face, the years that have shuffled on And on through disgust and turmoil Spiders on the lips of its slow attrition Knives through eyes that have long since faded I remember this house like a half-forgotten song A name on the tip of the tongue A scar on the tip of the soul I listen to this demon as it crawls across the floor Drags itself across the boards and watches me Lifting up a voice that sounds like witches burning Scratching along the floorboards with a body gaunt and shattered I burned them all in effigy But must have forgotten about This box covered in dust under the careful watch of dread Ghouls awash in the tattered finery of Hapless pain And withered in the trance Despair Disguised as agony Conjure forth the monster sleeping long in stony silence Roil the waves and rouse their denizen From an æon of splendid sleep left mercifully undisturbed Many arms about me, many Pulling me into the shape and shadow of oblivion Pulling me apart and gnawing without end And tell me: If the eyes of the dead are forced open— Even for a second— And the eyes of the dead are allowed to speak What is the hell they betray, and What is the nightmare unsealed? What has this fragment of Reason To do with the oceans of age?

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 25, 2025