Our Origin

There I lay as the waves washed upon the sand,

the pitch-dark silent dead of night,

creeping stealthily towards my simple bed,

as all slept soundly I wept to myself in despair.

The window, like an eye, opens slowly,

the Beast scrabbling with its deformed limbs to gain entry,

and then leaps into a dark corner of the room,

unnoticed by all but me, for the room is mine.

From its pool of shadow in my sanctum the Beast taunts me,

my screams echo along the walls but no-one comes,

we are the only ones here, the Beast and I,

it says 'You. Are. Dead.'

My mind contorts in agony as the Beast stalks forward,

it seizes me by my thoughts and memory,

it dives inside and buries itself into my subconscious,

as I writhe in psychological pain, begging to be set free.

And then all was calm again and still,

the Beast and I are one now,

two minds, one body, one purpose,

this was our origin.

We stab ourselves to feel the pain, to remind ourselves that the body is weak and feeble and that glory awaits on the plane of the non-physical.

Dark Passion

Two people, both alike,

one male, one female,

pale skin, cold flesh,

possessed of evil intent.

They engage in the embrace of destruction,

shattering the hate within their minds,

this is the opposite of love, beyond loathing,

more powerful than a prayer.

The pure, black, unbridled energy in their hearts,

it connects across the physical divide,

their cold, dead lips join to seal their despair,

this is the dark side of passion.

The evil, sadistic energy in the bare, black room,

it surrounds them like the barbed wire of the soul,

penetrating their icy exteriors as they scream,

they cry out in exquisite pain as the energy enters their bodies.

They are in the paradise of darkness,

there is nowhere else to rival it,

you can keep your puritan ways,

but our dark passion will destroy you.

I have been mutilated by the tip of a knife called existence.

Tribute to Hate

Hate is my favourite emotion,

not the flaming hate for your fellow man in the heat of an argument,

I mean cold, raw hate of the eternally damned.

It's not always directed at a single thing,

sometimes you feel the icy hate for existence grip your soul,

you want to let go but you can't because deep down you're enjoying it.

Sometimes it goes too far,

how many gypsies and jews met death at the hands of the cold hate of the nazis,

hate works best at a compromise, we may enjoy it but it can't exist without love.

But then love can't exist without hate,

They are both equaly important, they can both build empires,

so if you cherish love, find something to hate a little today.

If thine right hand offends thee, thou hast attained balance.

Dead Ned

You are dead,

body in bed,

mind out of head,

lucky old Ned.