Out of a Center Which Is Neither Dead nor Alive
Falling for feeling. Time stops our hearts again. Visceral emanations break bread with remember-whens and has-beens. The nows and the laters wage war on the forevers. Gladly bound to an infinite end. Now corridors echo with these tongue twisting oaths. Proclaiming squalor rather than valor. We will not be placated again
Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 25, 2025
If only lives could paint themselves. The winding roads would not lie. Empty spaces could co-exist with empty faces to experience the invigoration of going nowhere at the speed of light. Time’s eye left in the sun to blind. Tonight we shall forget them all. One with all, none and all.
Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 25, 2025
I won’t take this chord from round my throat, and I can’t promise you won’t find a note. For our gallows still stand luminous and tall. And they’re calling to us even now. I will make no sacred vow. A kiss has seal these lips tonight, and tomorrow may never come for me. But in this night we’ll feast and we we’ll fight and keep these fires burning until the dawn. And if we make it to see the morning light, we’ll sing an errant wanderer’s song of hangmen, heroes, lovers, and pawns.
Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025
Three hours. Time devours life’s foundation. Familiarity He has known this fate before. Doomed to repeats the denial of this historical lust of disaster. A theoretical dream. It all returns to stab and pierce again.
Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 25, 2025
The dive into numbness, the only option today. Retreating into oblivion never felt so effortless. Forging the path within an eternal descent. Hope, progress, and growth spring from the crypt of realized fallacies. Living through death. Learning to love. Embracing discontent. Face down. Bloodletting and forgetting. Exorcising demons. Exercising futility.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 25, 2025
Life ends as leaves fall. Occam’s razor strikes again. Can I dance if I have no soul? If I go under will you find me cold? And if I travel to distant lands, would you walk beside me and hold my hand? Blessed realization. Blessed consternation. Suffering from aberration. Sores ignored panic restored. Consuming the fruits of our labors. We are the aberration.
Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 25, 2025