The Secular Tragedy

This mental illness brings me closer to my Savior’s rotting will
Each time I sink more than prescribed I feel alive & born again
The more I sip the dark red sea the more the sorrows drown beyond me
The numb divide is heavenly, it vindicates the typecast serpent
Behold! The putrid stench of Holy Ghost aroma fills the air
It saturates the flowers bloomed, I watch them wilt w/in my hand
Then toss them in a garbage can where once I would have tended them
Never again utter ‘amen’ until my soul finally ascends
Amends for every misappropriation fashioned by my sinful need
For all things manifest in seeds of darkness sewn by ravens’ beaks
Black rose mystique, the thorn that pricks me deeper than my scars will tell
Though not the brightest pedal found, I wear my colors well

Shall I fear Hell? Hell no! I shall not dread the things I cannot see
Nor can believe when hell on earth is all I can perceive
Tormented by infernal demons, the sun descends behind the hill
Sits silenced like a mute clairvoyant cannot tell the future’s will
The hoof now splits the Acheron sky, the ferry docks, Kharon I cannot spy
For naulum shades my eyes, the hundred-handed scratch me blind
They pull me from the Chinvat Bridge & drag me into druj-demana’s
Gnashing teeth & windless fury, is there no comfort to be found?
The worm w/in me will not die, privation now immortalized
I stand castrated from the congregation sitting high above me
I can see them sway in waves of righteous pity, curse the way I’ve misbehaved
W/ fallen angels raised from ashes impudent & unrepentant
Lusting after kingdoms Shed, the skies of Horus, the storms are Set

All ye who enter here beware – there will be woe among the lost, abandoned hope
Nine circles sweeping tear the damned mind from its thoughts, the head plays dead
The rabid dogs resume to feasting ripping limbs from tender flesh
While underworldly lords assume their thrones in cursed blasphemy
Possess w/ scheming creeds of wicked wrath wrapped taut in suffering
The Dark One promised me the things he could not give – a lasting peace
The swollen scabs of sacrificial boils now burst in tragedy
Like letters from the earth I search in vain for my Persephone
To save me from the bitter sting of Satan’s fiery company
I writhe in blistered agony as does the thirteenth key in doorways
Locked w/ chains of agonizing punishment & feigned deceit
The gate doth open to a world where astrologic chants proceed to recreate
A magik cult of equinoxed insanity inserted in the vein of ancient, ritualled depravity
Carved from the ivory-pillared horns of churches built on sacrilege
Where whispered oaths of psychic spells evoke excruciating hells

I spiral down eternally forsaken by my careless doubt
No drop of water for my tongue whereby my condemned lips can shout
Redemption granted if my soul can purify itself throughout
But my strayed pen cannot abide (therefore these tribulations mount)
So I in turn must find salvation in the pen w/ faith devout
& summon my escape from pain by writing my way out.