Lost
the world is a mist the soul a fog the heart is still beating but I cannot hear it the pain is the only real thing yet is comfortably numb I am not here at all all frontiers to reality vanished while unveiling the obnoxious void where I stand conscious but absent dead but dreaming the pain is the only real thing yet is comfortably numb I am not here at all people around are fractions of imagination who speak to me in foreign tongues and in purgatory waiting in eerie delusion dead but dreaming the pain is the only thing I feel while dwelling on my comfortable numbness the pain is no longer intrusive the pain is me the pain is death
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
I see worms coming off my flesh when I look at pictures of me and in the mirror there is no reflection there is no refraction all is black all is absence I dream of maggots swallowing my every bit as I lay down in binding surrender and looking up I contemplate abyss-like skies falling over mankind cocooned as infinite sorrow I feel like a praying mantis in a swarm of locust I should be god among insects I should be poetry sung by the damned while they burn at the stake I should be praised in the psalms of the unwritten gospels my name whispered in the walls of the akashic room and I am just a praying mantis in a swarm of locustI see worms coming off my flesh when I look at pictures of me and in the mirror there is no reflection there is no refraction all is black all is absence I dream of maggots swallowing my every bit as I lay down in binding surrender and looking up I contemplate abyss-like skies falling over mankind cocooned as infinite sorrow I feel like a praying mantis in a swarm of locust I should be god among insects I should be poetry sung by the damned while they burn at the stake I should be praised in the psalms of the unwritten gospels my name whispered in the walls of the akashic room and I am just a praying mantis in a swarm of locust
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026
E a morte sorriu de seu próprio domínio Cheia de vazio Fecunda de nada presença solene E a morte versou a sua própria obra-prima o grande nada o vazio final para os condenados Suave mas convincente eficazmente perturbadora e irreversível Confortável, mas dormente eficazmente saturnino e irreversível Na sua náusea Na sua respiração Em seu calor sufocante quando, jocosamente num absoluto prazer avarento, rouba o último suspiro gracioso mas catatónico eficazmente terminal logo irreversível troca vida por uma névoa suave conduzindo ao futuro inexistente Ele suga a vida com redemoinhos prazerosos Em movimentos sensuais sádicos E então silencia o clímax no auge do infinito vazio Em sua irreversibilidade é feliz a guerra que faz já ganhou esboçando um sorriso enquanto mutila toda a esperança, toda a vida Em carícias lascivas
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Jun 06, 2026