Hell is just a disconnected place.
There is no secret. It's something you have known
deep in the mystic stomach where you feel
the truth of things. It is the purple tongue
that licks the rusty razor blade and bleeds.
You will die when you read this.
The world is long and loud and labyrinth.
Water is death, the pain is everywhere.
The hair is on the skullplate, but the face
is made of bone. The skin that still hangs there
is made of murder, but the deed has perished
and no one cares.
This is the horror living things must bear
before they die and every death a plate
of food for the umbilical feast of famine.
This is the supper that is set before them.
No one can live in such a place and still
be any more than food for what is eaten.
- October, 2010
No comments:
Post a Comment