Ears throbbing.
What did you hear as you slid in the back?
Could you hear screams echoing from the future?
Could you already taste blood, red and coppery and smooth?
How hard was it to shove the knife in?
I close my eyes and imagine your fractalated glee
and happy child-joy as you sliced like a barber
gone mad.
How long did it take before
life was extinguished?
I imagine you cleaning your blade on the moon
and spitting down the sky of darkness.
Slice your face, friend, and pull out the spiked
glow which nestles inside of you like poison.
Doubt no more your holiness;
come with me and run through ancient fields
of stone and dead virgins and play with the
stained-glass butterflies, for though they may
cut into your fingers, in the end it's all the same.

We are the chosen children,
the ones born with silver razors in our mouths.
Let's build a fire and burn all existence in one
huge explosion.

Shield your eyes and crawl with me
underneath the ground.
We'll search for the fallen angel who
hold all of our answers and then we'll
beat the truth out of him:

"THERE IS NO GOD.
THERE IS NO SATAN.
THERE IS NO GOOD.
THERE IS NO EVIL
THERE IS ONLY YOU AND THE WORLD AND
THE ENDLESS CAVERNS OF YOUR HATE."

It's thoughts like this that keep us happy.
Never forget my portfolio of deah, or
the night when we committed the most
unthinkable crime, then killed each other
in our ecstatic glee.