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Without a desire. We become a liar. Ourselves. Futile fertilized. A fire of your desire. Put out from black lips. Life’s silhouettes dancing within the shadows of your equilibrium. Laughing at you. Gagging on laughter. Giggling little girls. Twirls. Hair wrapped around tiny fingers. They do the most damage. Sucking in the air. Suffocating all of those who are around. Cannot breathe. Cannot seethe. Release the beast onto them all. Ripping out their equilibrium’s. Quickly devouring all of the flowers within their body’s devastated garden. Choke hold over the bold. Midnight sacrifice. This is when the tangled web begins to beg. No mercy will ever be shown. Lips sip. Torture grips. The midnight which has failed to grow.

Falling down into you. The quickest way to a self-defeating type of life. The only quality of life you have ever shown me. Perfectly handicap. Imperfectly brought into your death rattle. The only type of love you know how to give. The only type of love I know how to receive. I never had much practice. Once or twice. Now I will never know the true taste of love. Only the bitterness of your kisses. A fleeting fading fall. Twisted bones within two broken homes. When bones break. Reminiscent of the soundly dirt and grit between my teeth. Tearing you to shreds. Ripping every piece of flesh off your body. Slowly and precisely. One piece at a time. My bite is the bones breaking within your torso. A fallen hand dances across your face. Reminding you of time fleeting away from your life. Never able to regain what you once lost. Losing your mind. And its eye.

It will prick and poke until you release. Through this exhalation of blood, the thorn shows you how to live. It will bring you pain, in order to bring you to life. It will bring you death, in order to bring you inner sight. The teaching’s and reaching’s will suffocate all which you may have thought you may have known. Another surrender. Another ideal turned under. Another sight within the eye’s might. Another breath within a stolen death. Grievances are the seeds of growth. Plant your seeds, allow your sow to grow. Never allow anything or anyone to hinder what you render: especially you. All of your deeds will be forgiven and forgotten, as long as the words you speak and seek are not rotten.

A chance to breathe again. A chance to see with my own eyes again. A chance to be myself again. There are not enough chances within this time to do anything over again. Nothing can be undone. It is only you which becomes unraveled. Another time then. Another situation devoured by false memories and grievances. Too many symptoms; not enough rendering. The transparency of the negative shines through. You are here, you are there; everywhere at once. Nowhere in the now. How could it be any other way? Other than your way…my way…no way. A chance to speak with my own tongue again. The words are blocked, along with my path. Endure the blockage, in order to gather enough strength to move it out of the way. Out of my way. A chance to be again.

The withered have been delivered and denied. A quench needs to be satisfied, and devoured. Thoroughly devoured. The certain demise of what lies between the thighs. The orchids will no longer bloom for you. Seething teeth shred the denial upon your tongue. More words wasted than swallowed. Gagging on rotted remembered memories. Swallowing the prided prize of shame. The gender will surrender with absolute splendor. All cocks and cunts are the same. Wanting. Needing. The others fulfillment. A lost fulfillment. Given away. Lost within a disdained charity. Clarity was never part of the agreement. You signed the contract on your own free will. There is no point in crying over spilt blood. You have really beautiful teeth. It always looks good if you smile when you are in pain. This way no one will ever be able to tell you are dying slowly from within. Just put on the mask you usually wear during the holidays. When the pain is at its worst. No one will ever be able to tell the difference. Sadism has become one of the most common serviced goods nowadays. Not many people are buying, but everyone is selling it. The world is filled with pieces of shit who are always trying to sell you something.

Song: TVIK

Artist: The Voodoo Industrial Komplex

copyright © 2019 The Voodoo Industrial Komplex/ G.G. Kalfas