Gangrene

Once a man built a large and grotesque wall Of cracked stones, dead hopes and bruised limbs. He wanted it to protect himself against a deep growl Of a storm carrying remorse and memories of sins. Below the faded sun, he spent his entire lifetime In hiding from any truth, in masking his crime In an attempt to castrate his already sexless flesh, Blindly fleeing from any recollection of thresh. Thus this pathetic living corpse was joined By other insipid souls in this work for them purloined. And generations massively adopted the habit Instituted by this mad man drowning in his vomit. Gathered they were, each saying no to life With such ignorance, overabundant and rife, But still firmly meaning what they could only ignore Chained themselves under a sky to love and implore. But what can he, who has not pierced eyes, do When he discovers such a wretched view: Impotent armies of degenerated and naked warriors Brandishing a banner where it is with gold thread knitted “ERROR”. There were so many of them at the bottom of the wall That even in one hundred years you couldn’t count them all Though weak, their number was doing that one man alone Couldn’t make them fall and destroy their throne. Giving up all phantasms of grandeur, there is no boiling war to be declared; Just frozen and wild fancies, orgasmic visions of excruciated traitors immolated. Glaring at nothing but my own rage, feeding from my overwhelming hate Without melancholy but fury, I collapse in my engrieved fate. Of the two available roads one leads to starvation, and the other one to prostitution. The first one embraced me, as I choose death and self-abnegation. Now the memories of their distorted faces is slowly fading away, Even refusing to follow me as I sink into merciless dismay.

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 25, 2025

Now arrived at the dusk of my aeonic existence But yet, too short My hands are bound in my back with a thorny rope And yet, so tight Raising my prophetic gaze one last time The only things I meet are blight And contempt, vomited by all those mouths United by the dogmatic boundaries of so-called human decency Unanimously condemned by a mislead humanity And yet, too quickly For daring to bother the established with cosmic words And yet, so true Thus destined to such vile death A revengeful spectacle for the shocked memory I look at the fire burning higher and higher around me Already suffocated by the smoke’s hypnotic breath I suddenly feel a freezing warmth Like boiling acid rolling on my body From my feet to my chest The flames are devouring me Vile mass exalting christlike fantasies I will not wash your sins For of all the scourges your sick mind creates, my body is free As it has ever been and will always be The pseudo heroic act of self-castration Reanimated their old morbid satisfaction Again, repeating time and abandon They missed their target and reached perversion. Deafened by the morbid pulse Roaring in their ears and spreading its curse All their mouths were sinisterly open For their blaming how to straighten No sacrifice hidden behind this murder You deserve nothing but a contemptuous laughter Your cause is senseless, so is my agony Staining your hands forever with blood of perfidy Forget all your neurotic constructions And face the source of your dissatisfaction One last time One last time... Or have all my attempts always been vain Disregarded, lost under disdain? Could all my scars and wasted blood Only be remembered by the silent mud? Sucked away from each infected memory Vanishing under each gaze, inexorably? During this everlasting agony A smile distorted my cracked lips One last time For even though my time had gone Somewhere a seed had been sown One last time my thoughts wandered free Beholding future hatching potentialities I hate you world I wasn’t made for you... Alas...

Submitted by Immortal — Apr 25, 2025

What is this strange blaze in the Western sky Confusingly recalling an endless cry, Echoing weakly throughout the horizon, Flying blindly to an hazardous destination? Night and day it stands fiercely there In such a pernicious and piercing glare, Holding its terrible secret for itself And ignoring the pitiful, plaintive prayers. Few are those who seem to see it And yet the reflection in their eyes Wakes in the beholder such disgrace to commit Unavowable tragedies, mother of any demise. What is this gangrene cankering above our heads Slowly waking in us all the denied dreads Buried and chained deeply within our breasts Sworn to be forgotten, but alas in vain manifests? Is this just a human extension, A part of ourselves thrown in the outside Or is it, implying great tension, An exterior object we can only try to abide? Should our dreaded nightmares have become flesh And suffocate us in their rotting stench? Could it be that the filth dishes we kept leaving behind us, for our children to finish because human feces weren’t to our taste but probably to theirs, because yes they must love our shit and swallow it with delight; could those denied full plates of wet muddy crap one day decide to rebel against their left and forgotten state and throw themselves within our tyrannically bourgeois mouths? Well yes, this is what is happening Like the newborn child the mother gives birth to: The extension of her flesh suddenly becoming A free identity; no more one but two. And when the child loses ingenuousness, And in the womb and sting sees no more love, Not vanished, but never enclosed! Disdainfulness! Iron spikes grow from the just fallen doves. Falling on the knees, Infected with a sudden disease; Those foreign hands around their neck Leaving the body lifeless, a sunken wreck. Falling on the knees, Infected with a sudden disease: The fecal rebellion. The roarstorm of the lion.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 25, 2025

Tristesse en devenir, si pénible à subir Infectait par milliers les pauvres cœurs ingrats Dévoilant l’éclosion, la désoccultation Ainsi au loin, sans que l’on ne comprenne pourquoi Un obscur ganglion fit son apparition... Noirâtre et écumeux, il atteignait les cieux Que seul, il défiait, déclenchant vents furieux Déluges punitifs, et autres ires divines. Car tout au loin, sans que l’on ne comprenne pourquoi Un ganglion avait fait son apparition... Pareil à un volcan, il se mit soudain à vomir rocailles et flots de lave Emplissant le ciel d’une poussière noire, isolant les hommes sur terre loin de leurs astres N’ayant de la sorte plus accès au dogme et à sa précieuse aide, ceux-ci durent dès lors affronter seuls Le bouillonnement jaillissant issu des profondeurs de leur chair Tous immobilisés par la déchirure Entre le créateur et la créature Leurs yeux écarquillés, et leur regard hagard Reflétaient en leurs pupilles noires et dilatées Un ganglion ayant fait son apparition... Mais alors que leurs lèvres se desserraient Pour laisser s’échapper un râle déchiré S’éleva une plainte intangible et glacée Leur susurrant à l’oreille que quoi qu’ils projettent Un ganglion avait fait son apparition... La terre sacrée, profanée par l’excroissance haïe Exacerbant mille pensées refoulées, et autant de peurs honnies Un monde enfoui refaisant soudain surface Au grand dam de ceux qui à présent se révélaient à eux-mêmes en tant que maudits C’est alors que la lave se mua En un liquide purulent et âpre Répandant sur son passage Les traces d’un mauvais présage Il était inscrit dans ces troubles eaux Que la chute serait pour bientôt Que leur damnation n’était autre qu’eux-mêmes Et leurs doctrines suprêmes

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 25, 2025

Enivré par les vapeurs du vide, Noyé dans ses noirs et visqueux fluides, L’esprit s’encouble, titube, puis bascule, Vers cet inconnu qui à chaque pas recule. Vacillant émotionnellement Mais hélas, toujours présent. La conscience vaincue n’aspire qu’à une fin : La précipitation de son destin. L’immersion entière dans un abîme de silence Où aucun son ne viendrait troubler la lente danse Du corps et son processus de décomposition Déserté de toute trace de raison. Le repos tant convoité Après mille guerres livrées Contre un ennemi invisible Et son armée intangible. Tout ce sang souillé, sacrifié Au profit d’une cause aliénée Perdue d’avance et pourtant Défendue jusqu’à l’épuisement. Mais là, si seul face au tout puissant effroi S’effondrent les derniers vestiges de la foi En la quête que rien n’avait jamais auparavant Été en mesure de briser et de plonger dans le néant. Et pourtant, voilà le dernier bastion qui soudain s’embrase Projetant brutalement et irrémédiablement hors phase L’ultime espoir de guérison, de purification, Et son porteur, englouti dans la perdition. Le sang fut autrefois gâché au dehors Ruisselant sur la chair et ses infectes pores Mais le voilà à présent gaspillé de l’intérieur Dans ce dédale de veines de malheur, Injectant à chaque battement de l’organe honni Une existence dont plus personne ne jouit. Dès lors obsolète et sur le point d’être sacrifiée Au profit d’une quiétude plus jamais troublée. Alors que l’on était sur le point de hurler à l’utopie Voilà que ce phantasme que l’on prenait pour pure folie Se révèle, alors que sa silhouette pointe dans le lointain, Être plus sensé que ce qu’auraient pu penser certains. Lorsque l’arme dont on use pour combattre l'adversaire Se trouve inapte à les faire tous choir face contre terre Il reste en nous un dernier sursaut d’énergie Pour la retourner contre soi et s’ôter la vie.

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 25, 2025

While the reflection of past scars Still faintly shines, still weekly whines, A new flame dawns, calm and pale Surrounded by a white glow, but so frail. It enlightened my deafened scream, Where hatred was reigning supreme, Thus switching ways, inverting nights and days And breaking the walls of my rational maze. Of my past, there remained only a heavy ruin, Finally allowing my cold self to breath in. Of my plans of a slow succumbing, Silent smokes were now escaping, from their ashes dying. Down below, deep under my skin A cold hole, not meant to be filled in A secret place, where no light had ever made its way And where each color would have turned to grey Right next to that cavity, a dead battering in a lonely grave Carrying life as a moribund soul for continuity would crave But its slow pulse one day you troubled As its shameful cadence you entered I am the monstrous soul, The one that never drifts but always crawls. Lend me your wings so we can fly And reach the welkin high.

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025