Hedon
enter suicidal angels;
how hungry have we become;like animals naked in shamefed with the hooves of apocalypsethat galloped down, disorderedworlds behind
from word to a word i was led toa wordthat spanned over cultures in rage
crimson masses, steeped in decadenceholding our tongues to the thirstysunso, is the future still open?then enter, hornet, from our hive-darkheartsto draw down the end from within
we need not the hornsthat emanate from our warty, hauntedbodies
nihilist, hedonthe priceless art of their livessorrow is a wing laid atop theirheads.skin deep, we carve our immeasurablesorrowin the fold of your shivering arms
hedon,your children wildand filled with death
jupiter in our unforgiving eyes;a pandemonium of bodies and goldeager, as a part of your faceand the sickness attached to yourskin (stone)as the wine-rush,chargin from androgynous wombsto open free the lid of pain
hedon,rinsed in post-human shadowsa monument scorned by the teethof timestale-faced keeper of secrets,leaded with implosive firethe whore that carried the apostleto the mating point on the gravesof giants
we look at you, afraidto see what we really are