All Is Mist and Fog
Into the morning, white and grey. When the soulless sun devours the dwindling day. And all around forests slide into swallowing seas. Great oceans, boiling and writhing with malice. set fear in our swollen faces. Amongst beasts like minded I graze, setting in motion my greed slave. Like a swarm of filthy vermin. Like a mist devouring the light. Memories of waste. A declining binge fueled haze. Without hope of betterment. Unwilling to prosper. Neglect of growth. Tunnelling inwards. Floating face-down. With no understanding, or signs of change. Like lights on a hill we bend and sway, perception dilutes with the coming of sunfall. With crooked throats we labour our airflow. Ripping at our skin before our muscles atrophy
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
There is no remorse, for the coward fallen. I tumbled down, blind to warmth. subject of regretful days. Hopelessness is not, and never shall be. but the malice takes me down. We are fed and watered, till' we are bursting. We have descended, the ladder rungs rot. Heavy, worn, and grey. I sate my desire, before I remember your name. My hunger is a gaping vortex, which grows at the center of my greed. We are fed and watered, till' we are bursting. We have descended, the ladder rungs rot. Heavy, worn, and grey. I can't recognize love. My senses are spoiled with a superficial disease
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
There are these endless valleys, for the stars to stare. A jaded warfield. too serene for my dream. I want to gag and vomit on the grace of those unclean. Down amongst the tunnels where dark waters grope. We can not climb the filthy spirals towards the shining sky. A stream of black roars past me everyday. I wander into the depth. I see myself staring back at me. Down amongst the tunnels where dark waters grope. We can not climb the filthy spirals towards the shining sky. This is how we regenerate.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Why am I still here? Lingering in this place. I have been stricken with fatigue, and base-born instincts. My inner-most will, sapped by the tendrils of the omnipotent lie. Under grey skies they swallow, devouring their demise. Yearning for The Mother, her sour milk gushes, spills, pours into a well run-dry. My inner-most will sapped by the tendrils of the omnipotent lie. Force-fed wanton pleasures, under a shroud of free choice. Piled high, hedonistic delights. Gloating these petty urges, a dance you've learned from greed. Boasting these incandescant whoredings. The scent of shit paints trails to your grave. Not defined by fury, nor do I choke on my rage. Spoiled by the mother's milk, my flesh is succulent while yours decays. As I walk about I feel the foundations tremble. You have turned away. I see you as gods, sons of the highest order. If I ever escape this black ocean.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
The ritual of odious worship takes place once again. Dwelled upon are the times of indulgence and flesh. Coccooned I am, in a world where logic has no weight. Too many days spent silently awake. My souls incarcerated in a flame worn cage. Your flesh is succulent, while mine decays. My sense of righteousness defiled by my destructiveness. Forever the odds are against my escape. Ropes tighten around my limbs. Air is beckoned from my lungs. This is my adversity, my affliction, my comprehension of life's decisions. I'll soldier on, into the wilderness, forever haunted by my sickening tenderness.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Mist and Fog. ...And I will make the dust return to your faces. You will perish like men of ignorance. Pesten hoer. Devils seed. I am blood, I am soil. I know the ever impulsive falsehood. We drag our heels through the echoes of Winter, reminding ourselves of a regretful past. Blinded by your great vulgarity. Persued by a tempest downtrodden. Struggling to remain bouyant in your filth. Forever buried under judicious reflections. I am the dying starfields. Blood-borne demise. We drag our heels through the echoes of Winter, reminding ourselves of a regretful past. Peripheries frost-laced, like dying clouds. Casting the skyline with our decadence and glut
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Weakness. A lack of purpose. Ingrates, the toils of peasants. The spirit which defines our strength, flooded with addicts, and soulless husks. Flooding. Sapping. Chasing. Forming. Shamefully we drag our feet, through concrete wastes. The only reminder of a better life is the memory... Insignificant to me. Sapping the life from an impossible goal. Chasing lies, Forming lifes trials. Wasted decay, staggers behind. Unnoticed they fade, into our earth. Her benign nature, too beautiful to spit your corpse back into the faces of the ones who created you in the first place.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
Unending realms, void of struggle. Only undivided focus. No subtle resistance to purity. No echoes of judgement. Frozen river. Frozen sky. A shard of ice in the mind's eye. No walls coloured by the spirit of conflict. No embers succelent from the flames of war. Higher ground, make believe. Sorrow follows where I lead. A realm sick with disease. Constant misuse and befoulment. The grime is on our teeth. Frozen river. Frozen sky. A shard of ice in the mind's eye.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026
A mouthful of gravel, another fucking dead weight. The further we travel, the shade is near but the heat is great. A fathomless distance, fire dances in the air. I long for the cool shelter, before I piss my fluid being away. Grazed knees and bloodied palms, the hot rocks pick at my flesh. Crawling to the refuge, that seems to refuse me. And we gather, the sky has opened. I'll hide in the shade, where it's safe for me. Laying on blisters and dead soil. The shade beyond my grasp. The rain fails to extinguish my skin. I will lay here, dying. Celestial realms my final comfort. My shallow lungs collecting warm sand.
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026