The Annihilation Of The Chatatonic
As I sit, the bench is steaming, sizzling under the heat of perdition;
My heart pounders, as I try to repel, all the flames
Of the hell, infernal.
Don’t come now, darling; the soil is unsteady, I’m sinking a bit
and you, you stay where you are
While I’ll make my way out the belly of ghouls,
Cut the veins, chained around my throat
like a witcher, a slaughter begins.
I sit, the soil is shaking, the tremors of the underwolrd;
shadows emerge and solidify
Awaiting my fall, ready to consume,
darkin hyenas of the shadow-realm, readying their throats,
But their figures, bodies made out of shadow,
Dark dust only, translucent demise.
I sit, amidst the fluid darkness, a wind, warm flame;
It used to burn my flesh, now its reach has weakened
the voices uttering the language of the past,
Muttering.
