"Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell"
- John Milton
Let me into
The world outside
Let me endure
The shame I found
Stillborn and blind
With none to blame
The angels sigh
So it has to ends
I let it hammer my body into bitter bliss
Dismissed is the gist once meant to persist
The shell is safe
But air is poison inside
With none to understand
Locked to abandoned ground
Ruptured my heart
To vent my pain
It reeks of blight
So it has to end
I let it hammer my body into bitter bliss
Dismissed is the gist once meant to persist
In the fist of the mist where I�m bound to exist
My name is still fixed to the top of the list
Anger...
The tome of naught
As to live is to survive
God is liquid
God is smoke
And God is all around
A simple body thus torn to life
A simple agony to feel as I writhe
A simple ending to know as I die...
Stay away...
Stray away...
Rupture is the Cult of the anguished
Rupture is the Cult of the vain
Rupture is the Cult of the lustrous
Rupture is the Cult of the brain
Rupture is the Cult of the beaten
Rupture is the Cult to align
Rupture is the Cult of the sentence
Rupture is the Cult to confine
Anger...
The tome of naught
As to live is to survive
God is liquid
God is smoke
And God is all around
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