Abysmal Growls of Despair - A Chronicle of Demoniacal Metamorphosis
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I. Portals to Oblivion

In the beginning there was a plague,
summoned from the malignant pages
of the most execrable of books. --
bound in flesh, written with blood,
each letter is infused with pestilence,
every word is a wormhole to a curse.

In the middle there was a conflagration,
the crematory rites for human-kind.
From their ashes, a cimmerian nebulae rose
and engulfed the goat-forsaken fields
of the devil's dead earth.
a shroud woven by forty-two shadows,
contrived to snuff the light
with the charnel stench of their devotion. ...

I've suffocated and died a thousand times,
trying not to inhale the dust of that dead aurora,
throughout a somber procession of incarnations,
crepuscular visions I never considered ""lives"" --
but intervals of asphyxiation on a six-spoke rotar.

... and the severed hearts still slither,
gangrenous, in the pool of dead blood.
Fools sacrifice in futility ...
then say it's my athame through their valves.
Time alone heals nothing. The incorporeal scars
fester beyond the confines of infinity
like the eidolon stars that unravel
the cosmos, invert existence ...
portals into oblivion.

... and therein lies the end, where non-existence
reaches its black culmination, the inverse
zenith of desolation. ...

II. Dying Embers of the Final Twilight

The worms mutated as the dead phosphorescence dimmed,
morphing into grotesque forms as they ate their way
through the forgotten corridors of my mind,
opening doors for the devil, six inverted eyes,
windows to Serpens' unholy light, the venom of gods ...
a torch to the shroud; all the filaments
of my artificial existence turned to cinders. ...
I gazed upon those forsaken conflagrations
as the spectral embers of that final twilight faded.

The stygian sea disgorged its serpents;
cthonian currents rose with the hydra,
disintegrating the sepulchral towers
of the impaled, staining the heavens
with the lustrous blood of the seraphim.
Enochian screams of mortal anguish cascaded
into the long-anhydrous veins of mortuary earth,
auguring the return of immemorable gods.

The arachnid flora of a primordial evil
ascended, a charnel garden, their gargoyle hearts
bared to the welkin, secreting the necrotic vapors
of damnation, the sulphrous nepenthe
of the netherworld. ... a balm
to my blackened, bleeding psyche.
I peeled off my skin ... the better to breathe it in,
to let the infernal visions flood my perception.

... in a temple between worlds, a pair of ravens
dine on the charred flesh of angels. ...

III. The Devil's Empyrium

My draconian wings unfolded as I drank
from a dark prism, the lifeblood
of shadows, the last light of fading ghosts,
as their composite annihilation formed my
dark haven, an atramental dimension
where the obsidian cataracts of mist
and flame converge and ascend
to hyper-demonic frequencies,
octaves beyond the comparatively pale,
pestilent planes of colored light. ...
It seems that dreams, like everything,
were forged in this hell-black miasma,
from the aphotic dust of long-dead stars,
from the cinders of mortal souls that have,
in anguish, faded back into the aethers. ...

... in the beginning there was only blood
on the parchment, inverted angles,
a demonic stigmata.