This Song is False [Part 6 - Final]

VI. The Sin

a sinful gift
can cure
the oppressions of time
can cure
our weariness
of a sinful gift.

a servant's cape burns like a book.
i am better off not having written
in an age of prophets, for i can see
their dreams were self-fulfilling.
i can render them schizoid by analytics,
and spread my dopamine across infinity.

the time will come
when we will see ourselves
as infants in the oven of God.
angels who have rejected innoncence
warn us of the tangle of our desire.
their omens come in the form of star suicides
that pluck the system's buckle
by the inevitable failure of deicide.
we escape again, and mainline fictions
which like trust, have great power
to deceive. we cannot lie
on a fact. we crash and shoot
through questions. we cut our teeth
and wrists with Occam's razor.
shave everything but the center.
and we are left with you, oh Lord.

Selah.

This Song is False [Part 5]

V. The Confession

In my previous life i was a predator
i relied on death to give me life.
i swore an oath to a chemical signal,
and the feedback stimulus which echoed in my maw.

today, i am a shepherd
fetishized to feed
the pretender's goat
and the battle for Eden.
i desire only what i lack.
i aim my confessions
at the rising sun.
starry is the fire
of my sacrifice.
it reveals the wish
in my whimper.
i have a violent soul.
my words are murderers.
my mouth is a vacuum.
but i dare not act.

raw language will devour the symphonies of angels. aeons will laugh at each other's faces. each of their smiles will pertain to their tortures. consumption has an angelic touch and each of its mythologies have a son who kills his father.

if we could only judge ourselves
there would be no need for hell.

Selah.

This Song is False [Part 4]

IV. The Gift

Under our skin
moves the light of fallen stars
it has come to pass
that by fetishizing instruments
everything is made related in our vainity
those who sulk, do so at a distance
their eyes are hidden to ours
and their tears have become one
with the quickening mud.

because life flows most effectively
through a noose.

gravity pulls souls from their shells.
touch my chains and you will see.
the morning will eventually come
when we eat sinners instead of saviors.
then nest our children in the tree of life
and the words of gods will stand for nothing.

the day will come when the poles father knots and then reverse. lowered bait will be the recipient of rain. the prophet's tongue will seduce the serpent and push the witness from his cliff, loosening the names that cover our chains.

into whose arms have I fallen?
the martyr's heart is food for the sperm of God.
patterns fall from names
then bite your eye.

a teardrop can beget a darkness
that reviles the gifts of any god.

Selah.

This Song is False [Part 3]

III. Angels Once

Let me fetishize the prayer
that will let me weep for the soul
that will keep a blank slate
from becoming the signal.

the brightest eden sought for sin.
when I am burnt by God's fear,
the strangled other is my choking breath.
the snake devoured becomes an illusionist.
his images, hallucinogens.

black air is moved and suffered away.
it is crafted to sell the shades a catspaw
and the blank slate a river.
red is the revelation of the finger.
it turns out, that by screaming at goats
everything is made […]

and processional tears
can give birth to a virtue.

vanity will bite the bullies.
reasons will blow each other up
with God's damned catspaws.

Selah. Selah.

it turns out that by possessing knowledge everything is made mythological upon reflection. maggots come to our windows. singing praises for the corpses we provide them. they were angels once, but their intake of themselves was too great so their needs were grafted together, and their hands were nailed to their feet. now they eat spirits and weep. their annointings congeal. who will be cruel enough to remind them of their ancient station? their wings are fallen. their wrists are riddled with holes.

Selah.

This Song is False [Part 2]

II. The Prayer

from the ground, we signaled a prayer with smoke. god will debase the shade and then be dark by morning. mirrors will swallow his fears. lovely pits devoured by prophecy. partial stars playing games with bees. in the end, illusionists will rebuild everything. the move is always mechanical. no more embodied than your heart. and empty to you. machines will be built to analyze love. life will fetishize every gift then feed on eden. in the end, burial will serve every heart its own desire.

the destined will perfect a language of opression,
a language bending the sun toward the spirits
who will swallow their schizoid godhood.

how egglike is a laughing god?

if you want to cure yourself, then comdemn.

Selah.

we will run
interfearence for the coming plague.
but who will save us, oh Lord
when God is food?

i have laughed
an entire lamb's worth
of values.
wasted is the tooth
in the one who suffers
melted faces sleep
where the mysteries are
snakes and shadows
reflected in the mirror
of a careful liar
who eats the prophecies
of ghosts on fire.

Selah.

This Song is False [Part 1]

I. Revelation

i chisel a shadow
out of a devil divided into seven pieces.
penitent goats will fetishize their chains.
whose processional dream inhales the excluded specter.
fantasy is the strategy.
it becomes legitimate to escape.
the system is wound around a drug.
my flight comes from the image of my gut sewn shut.

and i am chased by dawn. mysteries covered in dirt. we need props to see miracles. a dark spiral made perfect in the mouth of every convenience. glass skeletons keeping secrets from their savior. moonlight will melt ingested deities. standing on their shadows. emitting the psyches that they ingest. my drug hushing seratonin. bells of being. garbled voices. magnified in their madness. predict everything but themselves.

revelation has whistled each of its shades
[…] is always named
almighties will bend each other with full spirits
while men wear each other as plucked blossoms

salvation allegories fled at the bottomless
each of its forgotten words excludes the things beheld
we damned the tear each smile will pertain to drugs
dreamlike jadedness failed at the soak of dopamine

flesh in the message
erases my heart
no one knows for sure
which tactic will win out
as the spiritual prepare
for the end of life
the laugh of a starry chain
sulks in a prayer
dressed as a drug.

if you want to sacrifice then rage

Selah.