Tetraptych

My internal collapse - dare to stand Open the mouths, chasms of the forebear’s corpse The taste of our mother’s flesh, the fading chorus Embodied the motionless who pause to exhale Hands severed and hung aligned Scavenged fragments of the wretched dressed The nigredo carved upon the forehead with fire It is legion that hides within. Therein. Herein. Within. Assembled, orb-less, black mires mourning Watchers in the wake, carrion choir Rivers traced upon the ravaged callouses The crux, the cripple - I, futility, I, futility Futility A hammer held by gnarled fingers The fist of cold stares, the unrelenting A cry to mass, phantom phrasings The rise and fall of faith My other name spoke from within this ruin - and hallowed be… As I nailed the hands of the many limbed - O endless limbs Aloft, their palms acknowledged, anointed…and drowning Odour of sanctity, blessed putrescence It beckoned the dead man and his burial places As dyadic yet as I Transfiguration of melded light For it is divinity who hides within. Therein. Herein. There is only all Wretched in all this glory There is only I Radiant in rot

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026

Weep of all white Weighted faces of misery Weep of all white As the rivers run - of dying swans Contorting to ruin From the aqueducts of anguish Persistence / Always The colossus of pain, of mind and bone, melting tow Of the maudlin creases, to heave, bereave Veins seep the valleys Like bloated worms of the earth The gravity, the burden, the will Draping clouded skin Breathing against the current Drowning in bitterness Beloved frailty The perpetual strain The strain Senescent Estranged Time-scapes grind The flowing form Stretched across mould Degenerating From the fractures Of antiquity The everlasting lies - all lies The lies of all flesh... Piercing the silence The deafening dawn Against the rising sun The fading pulse Echoes of life We are All paths converge Descent upon descent The great cleansing The age of cold Old Glacial Old

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026

O framed, grace fall - broken, forgotten Where depths erode God’s hand The grime, the coarse, all the vile I sup the bile of man I bathe in the waste of man Gleaming eyes through filth Of Caravaggio scorning Fading, a bowed ray of light Memories in halo, to paint away this mind Walls of shadow, wells of sorrow, they call my name Pallid vessel Gnarled, arched, and true Cynosure, the poisoned arrow The brush, tendrils of mine Reaching, composing, violating All my blessings… Of mortar and mould Nails trace their cold faces Upon weary stone stares The art of my haemorrhage A portrait to this dolour Tetraptych, these walls Panels loom limbo The endless forms of suffering Smothering... I, enthroned... Dethroned Where this existence belongs I sit, I breathe, I wait Upon this mound of bones The gallery stares I am home I am home

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026

This room, cold, empty O father, failure Forsaken but free For hate is the house of the holy With severed wings and a cross to burn A fist of ash when dust is the fare Time fleeting, the disease of life Faith's perversion Godless...rise Pages of skin turn With the carving wind The endless churning ...degradation And beaten with forked tongues Smothered in gold Lashings of the sun Awaiting it's fall The fall…the fall of light ...And the fear of hope What are we without hope? Crown of the eclipse Wreathed, this blackhole - hollow Vacant righteousness Long live their emptiness Swallowing the void Inversion of being Becoming whole – Revealing Onwards - withered and worn And the rats trail bearing gifts Gnawing of limbs, festering - Vermin gods, pathetic In worship, in wake - Sepsis, seeping - parched are the children Weeping tears, as maggots fall into the well of stone hands Broken teeth scraping mould, earned granules Insatiable The age of illusion Phantasmagoria The poison of promise Purging from divine eyes One last kiss Crawling as one Despair, a mouthing draught Bleeding the path, serpentine From flesh to bone The wear of the way Wading worth in waste Dying, the stench to come What was will be -And the bodies will rise- Pain is always Our bloodletting, heart-wrenching Writhe Silence waits with open arms War within, war without To suffer is to know To writhe is to live Writhe

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Jun 18, 2026