Nothing Sane Here...

We so arrogantly cut off our genitals so that future generations would be spared our malefic intentions.  We bore children of ideals rather than of flesh and blood.  We took ourselves apart to see what parts of flesh we could replace with machinery.  An impure vivisection for the pagan masses.  

For...When we killed God, we covered our own eyes so that we didn’t see the blood that stained our hands.  When we cursed our loved ones for gold, our teeth cracked on the coins that were minted from our greed.  When laid with our beds of perversions, we flogged one another to be spared the pain of the eye contact. 

I have seen what you think is the holy light that saved yourself.  I have seen the dark that calls your skin to recede below the follicle.  I have choked on the air that you have called your dying gasp.  It brings the taste of viscera and oily sweat lurking beneath dubious intention. 

The rot that burns into our eyes is lacerated with the cataracts of despoiled nightmares.  An impish glee that masturbates with the jolly lamentations of a fornicating despot.  May you be incinerated in your savagely misanthropic paternalism.  May you feast upon your own bile in a crucible of forbidden alchemy eons from the heterodoxy. 

While the cursed anthems of lost children call you waking from your slumber in a cold sweat with a bloated erection.  May the yeast infection in your vagina poison your slumbering ignorance, and may the cares I have not, spite your accursed family for millennia.  Duplicitous and mendacious, they bathe in impure recollection.

I have journeyed at length upon the back of your wretched sovereignty in Hades, whereupon the twisted snarling visage of demon kind looks upon your countenance and rejoice.  I watched as their virulent and savage delights corrupted your mother’s milk as it ran from your withered face in immaculate dysphoria.  

While there is a vacuum that directs the malaise within me, it brings only stoic consternation borne out of ephemeral misery and from the vicissitudes of languishing nightmares of your paroxysm induced comas.   Tepid and callow ideations ambulate to me like swine blighted with infected urinary tracts. Oh, to what end?

The caress of malignant pituitary glares upon the sacred lamentations of covetous yet clandestine ambitions.  It waxes and wanes like the glossy moon on a night parsimonious of all luminous wealth absconded from the sun.  Naive menstruations by hallow charlatans greeted engorged political nomenclature.  It hemorrhages a vast sepulchral cask of inky nothingness for the zealous fanatics.  Let the hum of the twisted looming towers take shape above you.  Like some vile and encroaching aristocrat, so far leaving you intellectually lagging. 

You may say I am some kind of melancholy banshee, wailing a dirge for the afflicted masses preening for sanctification.  I stroke my beard and watch as you tear your unfettered flesh with the sanitized polished steel of scientific pubescence.  Ink under your skin, cells under your blood, and a myriad of invisible tyrants lurking in your organs. 

To What do I owe the Honor?