Ingurgitating_Oblivion

Amid the offal, abide with me

A Mote Constitutes What To Me Is Not All, And Eternally All, Is Nothing

Vision Wallows In Symphonies Of Light

A Devourer Of Fitting Shades Who Dwells In Rays Of Light

Uncreation’s whirring loom you ply with crippled fingers

To weave the tapestry of nought

The barren earth oozes blood, and shakes and moans, to drink her children’s gore

The blossoms of your tomorrow shall unfold in my heart

Lest I should perish with travel, effete and weary, as my knees refuse to bear me thither

Descent To The Temple