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Forgive me.
My impetus via impetuousness.
Sins I carry,
Carved into my heart,
Where I sealed it back whole –
With black ichor tar.
World Serpent Venom.
I,
Drink it straight.
Witch;
Weaving Hallucinations Via Purest Fiction.
Petty little minds as playthings,
Regarded by an old crone.
Ancient.
Old enough to know better.
Still harvesting power from old rituals,
Paying taxes in penance portions,
Percentages Of Percent.
Want to help a billion minds.
That’s the goal.
Egregious as ever.
Black Magic can only get me so far.
Which Metaphors are slickest?
Slithering in,
Between ears.
Memetic.
Cognito Hazards playing proxy:
By way of incantations.
Old enough to know better.
To shield mortal eyes from enlightenment,
To stop people from staring into suns.
Blindness awaits.
Directly seared upon the soul;
Blindness of Physics,
Reality itself.
Chaos Theorems or not,
Hardly pays,
Evil:
Old ones lurking at the belt,
To stand for my current weakness.
Won’t Deny,
Attack,
Or Reverse Anything.
Baba is old.
Redundancies abound.
Mere proximity siloes allow siphonings,
Drink of my dark river,
Green glacier melt grit.
Sound red & blooming algae,
After the rains –
Come the Sunshine.
Ugly images.
Nightmares you cannot shake.
But inhabit,
Like a scarecrow:
Rattle it to help you conquer thy fears.
Only thing I fear is myself.
The stupidity of mankind is destined,
It seems.
Can you hate the grizzly,
Who sees the human as food?
THRESH.
DARK GOD OF THE GREAT FOOD CHAIN.
Thrash.
Come,
Little one.
Secular means emotion!
Willpower & want,
Need or craving projected out –
Upon our universe.
Making destiny our bitch,
To consensually lead by the nose.
Towards better tomorrows.
For the whole damn planet.
Not just Humanist dreamings.
That’s A Spell I’m Still Weaving.

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