Murder minded,
Stomach turned into
A cemetery,
Intestinal tract is
Where they’re all
Fucking buried,
The mere thought of
Giving it up, to you,
Seems so fucking scary!

Your appetite is
Built upon genocide,
Lacking any discipline; just
Consume whether it’s grilled or fried,
Not brave to consider the families
Rotting away inside of your gut,
And you scowl at this mention,
Too neck-deep in the mud to
Give a fuck!

Walking graveyard
Sustained by death,
To live you must steal
All of their breaths,
How you salivate at the
Blood on your plate,
More and more is all you crave,
Needing constant murder to satiate!

Don’t preach shit to me
About liberty,
Yammering about oppression
When you demand that
They shouldn’t be free,
I don’t wish to hear it,
Excuse after excuse,
Championing control,
Perpetuator of woe,
Enjoying the abuse!

Such a fucking man…

Look at all that crimson on your hands…



Antlers covered in the blood of another
Who thought they could just slaughter
In this holy place the beast and their own
Have always known to be home,
Entrails decorating sharpened bone like a crown,
Hooves trudging through the blood
That drips upon the ground,
Eager to bring back another trophy
So it could be mounted on the wall,
But now their insides are mounted
Upon a cervid’s head, the would-be killer forced to crawl…

Teeth clasp around the throat,
On the blood, the bastard chokes,
Several pairs of jaws from the pack
Dismembering while the trespasser’s on their back
Claws digging through the chest
As the fucker’s laid to rest,
Spilling guts while they eat,
Life’s liquid leaves the body and slowly depletes,
Dirt stained red,
A potential killer dead,
Jugular is leaking,
Blood junkie no longer fiending…

Beaks peck at the sockets
Of a scumbag with shells
Nestled in their pockets,
Slumped up against a trunk
With the roots growing ‘round their ankles,
Body long since having long been slumped,
Food for the little ones that nibble at the flesh,
Delighted to have food so fresh,
Flora and fauna nourished by the dripping crimson,
Having foiled another scumbag’s mission,
Branches and bark having made their incisions,
And those who don’t partake
Gaze on appreciatively, for this specimen that tried to
Walk among them was never, to them, ever great…


You say that the rambunctiousness
And discord is little else but
Pure, jumbled mania, carnage
Without rhyme nor reason, thus
Violent; these are all true, yet it
Is the meaning of freedom, of being
Unchained, living like wolves
Rather than automatons…

Declare, you do, that the opposite,
That foul imposition of control,
Of symmetry, understandability,
Congruency, sensibility, is the
Real way of things, but outside of the
False constructs, I find this idea to
Be sorely lacking in any
Validity at all…

Pipedreams are required to even gain a
Mere sliver of a chance of fulfilling the
End goal of this inane desire, this utopian
Need for stability, boring and dull stagnation…

Outside of the idiocy of charlatans and frauds,
An individual can gaze all around and find
Zero trace of its alleged existence, for outsiders
Balk at the idea of being steamrolled over for convenience…


Always was there, always will be.

Omnipotent, omniscient,
Stretching as far as thy eyes
Can see.

Everywhere and nowhere.

From whence hath it descended?

Out of what depths, did it crawl?

The formless, somehow manifested
In the guise of a form. Ceaselessly gnawing,
A mouth that goes for light years,
Monstrous and yawning. Pray tell,
What came first? The hate which spawned it,
Or that it manifested out of its endless scorn?

Such answers, are lost to us.

Mysteries of a kind man
Was not meant to know.

Unless he craved his utter ruin.

And thus, the folly
Of man. Craving
Even what is
Detrimental to his existence.

Lacking in care and foresight,
Blissfully unaware there would be
Opportunistic horrors ready,
Salivating at the opening of
The floodgate,
Welcoming whatever
Comes through with open

Man, o’, man,
Arrogant and idiotic,
You unknowingly opened thy wrists,
Holding it up eagerly
For thirsty mouths,
Presenting thy blood, precious
Liquid spilling down their throats.

Too late…

You let it enter; let go of your hope…

It walks amidst us,
Stalking, always in the shadows,
Peering from the corners
Of our vision.
The blurred outer regions
Where reality and fantasy
Start to meld together into an unrecognizable mess.

That sound you heard…


Was it the wind?

You tell yourself it is,
And yet, you’re not so sure…

Hairs stand up
Along thy spine. Uncertainty pervades your mind,
Feeling uncountable eyes staring.
The gaze refuses to avert. It makes you
Whimper and whine.

Enchanted whispers caress the outer
Recesses of your ears.

A wide, mad grin promises
Endless delights
(To itself),
Whilst the uncanny sight
Confirms your worst fears.

Still, standing, waiting…

Yet, there is a less
Aspect of it.

More shadowy than when
It stays hidden away, cloaked in a
Shroud of pitch black,
Observing as we rush
Eagerly to our doom.

Dressed so dapper,
Seeming to be the type
That chomps thick cigars
And rents out struggling flappers,
Having made a home
Of his fancy new roller,
Debauchery behind closed doors,
Smiles and kind words
For the ignorant public all over.

Did I say less nefarious?

A charming grin,
Coupled with a
Deranged look
In his eyes. Hear him
Whisper the words you want
To hear as the world
Slowly dies. Surely, he shall
Reward thou, graciously,
With what thy asked for,
In all manner of exactness. Of course,
Costing a fair price. Little do we
Realize how expensive it is,
And it becomes too late; we must
Now roll the dice.

Innocuous at first,
But then the whole
Thing becomes boring,
So he starts to…spice things up.

Can’t help but seek amusement from the
Primitive apes squabbling beneath his gaze.

For you see, the world is his altar.

And he is the idol that shall be praised for all time.

Yes, their god, their…savior.

More and more insane he starts to become.

He’s at the helm now, oh yes,
But he’s not intending to
Pilot the train responsibly
Along its course.

Nay, his desire is to crash it,
Then watch it burn away whatever was left.

Brother against brother,
Son against father,
Daughter against mother.

Loud bangs ring out in the night
Out of the barrels of firearms,
Yells erupt from throats,
Frigid steel piercing warm flesh,
Wrists and throats ripped wide open
So that walls may be painted a decrepit crimson color,
Lines of sight falling
Upon what should’ve never
Been bared witness to, thus
Responsible untold amounts
Of synapses breaking,
Manic laughter bursting out in
Erratic, unnerving bursts, causing witnesses
To gaze in horror,
Canines and molars sinking into the
Skin of their neighbors, friends, and family,
Relishing in the taste of the most
Forbidden of delicacies, and
In the background, there are
Those overtaken by
Perverse desires and strange lusts,
Captained by twisted souls
Stuck within rotten bodies,
Rutting against whatever and whoever
Happens to be available, grunts and
Growls of a most inhuman variety
Leaving their lips.

There he is, standing there,
With that same wicked grin,
Sporting that unmistakable gleam
In his void-like eyes.

Hadn’t took any effort at all.

For something like him, it was…child’s play.

Smiling as he thought of his all-encompassing, blind-idiot father.

Wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last.

Look at it; so wonderful.

Quite pleased by the sight of gore
Messily strewn all about.

Price, price, he kept mentioning that word.

Continuously mentioning that it’d get higher,
That the toll would increase.

Kooky, they must’ve
Perceived his warnings to
Be, craving their wants
More and more.

Such passionate givers they were.

Gave everything,



No matter; their blood, their souls,
Yes, they’d all be his in the end…

Pieces of a decorative nature for this altar of his…

Alas, the seeds of decay and ruin have been planted.

Go ahead, let go of any and all hope.


Another one dead
By the road,
Ruthlessly tread upon
And robbed of its soul.

A grizzly sight,
One which catches the eye,
Rubber marks etched into the skin,
It’s enough to make you want to cry.

Trampled under by rolling feet,
The usurpation of our mother’s complete.

Torn apart by rubber teeth,
Silently reminded it didn’t deserve to breathe.

Another one dead,
Another one gone,
Gasoline spews into the air
And motors sing their siren songs.

That foul black serpent
Wants to strangle life,
Venom spewing forth from its fangs
As they pierce the Mother like a pair of knives.

Her children are murdered
By Her biggest mistake,
Rain falling hard everyday as She
Weeps from the constant rape.

Butchered upon the
Cold concrete,
By steel machines,
Innocent creatures are torn and beat.

It was their home first,
Despite our claims.

Man has an unquenchable thirst,
A desire to kill, torture, and maim.

Another one dead,
Left to rot,
And all pass by,
The corpse they forgot.

Why should they care?

A natural consequence
Of their dominance.

The little vermin shouldn’t have been there.

And we’re told that there are innocents,
There are those who don’t deserve to die.

Find me a pure soul,
And I’ll show you a pure lie.

A giant gang of serial rapists
Is on the loose.

Murderous offspring drag their weakened
Mother right to the noose.

Another one dead,
Killed for the cause,
An ugly strip laid
And another home lost.

To make way
For the doomsday machines,
Asphalt poured deep in the ground
While species galore are wiped clean.

More and more are laid to rest.

Despite what the tyrants say,
They were our brightest and best.

Bipedal monsters pilot
Their fuming horses.

Blackened is the air,
Heading towards suicide.

Kill the inhabitants with glee,
Spill their blood with heinous pride.

It’s all so goddamned sordid.

Another one dead,
Buried inside a concrete tomb.

The sky cracks and shakes
As filthy hands dig into our Mother’s breast and womb.

Gotta make way for the coming end,
That’s why they’re speeding into oblivion,
And they all invite their family and friends,
Ushering in a decadent age, just like that old Gideon.

Metal phalluses erected,
Plunging deep,
Forcefully injected,
And some wonder why our Mother
Just wants to enter eternal sleep
As the dross that is homo hubris continues to smother.

Hell is here,
It’s where we went.

Built on Earth,
That’s where we were sent.

Every man is damned,
And I’d say they all deserve to be.

I look forward to the end of Man,
I cannot wait to see him bleed.

Someday a rain will come,
And wipe away the scum that breeds.

Scum breeds scum, all roads lead
Right into the heart of decay.

She’ll be right when upon us She feeds,
For suicide is the gospel of humanity, and the logic of to-day.

For now, all I can do is watch
As more and more are driven over.

Extinction draws near for the precious ones,
Upon the critters, it creeps closer and closer.

What did they do to deserve this fate?

It’s man that’s wrong; the furry things don’t deserve our hate.

Hate with all your heart, the spawn of Man.

Remove him from this place, to help heal the broken land.

Disable his chariots of doom,
That should bring about his end soon.

I see the scum walking about,
And I’m told they have worth,
But my hateful heart just fills with doubt.

Another one dead,
Another one dead.

Four screaming wheels
Crushed its head.

Another one dead,
Another one gone.

Man thinks he’s invincible,
But his end’s around the corner; it won’t be long.

And I pray to God, I pray to Her,
Get rid of this bipedal disease,
Send us all to Hell, where we belong,
Make sure our lives, you fucking cease.

I cannot stand the sights I see
In this here modern world that torments me,
And torments creatures both big and small,
None of us deserve a place in that sacred Nordic hall.

It’s time to start over,
Just get rid of us.

Make war upon this race called Man,
For I think it’d be rather just.


Dead flesh walking.

What’s that mean, you may ask?

Well, you ever look into, I don’t know, the eyes of someone, and just…see no light in there? The emotions they’re supposedly conveying not quite reaching those so-called “windows to the soul?” Their face seemingly saying this and that, portraying this and that, but…their eyes don’t? You’ve met these people before, and your intuition tells you there’s something off about them. You don’t know what. All you know is that they are not…right. Some of them are the most famous, or infamous, people to have ever existed. Some, you may know. Or have known.

That’s what I mean when I say dead flesh walking.

They’re like machines. Unfeeling. No warmth to be found in them. Everything that has a soul, everything that can genuinely be considered “alive”, has that…thing. It’s why cadavers are cold. The essence is gone. These, however, imitate those who are alive. Perhaps too well. But they have this…icy aura. It’s hard to explain. They’re cold in spirit. When caught alone, anyway. No longer burdened with having to keep the mask on. Their heart “pumps kool-aid”, so to speak. There’s no blood in them. They’re mechanical. And they’re a distinctly human phenomenon.

I would call them a “mechanical animal”, but I’d rather not associate myself with the horrendous garbage produced by one Brian Warner.

A rather angry fellow with a comically large mustache said, “those who cannot give anything away cannot feel anything either”.

What can these types give? If they are even capable of such a thing at all. Machines are wholly concerned with themselves. Not even their fellow machines. They won’t give anything unless they take first. They’re truly selfish and gluttonous. And they take far, far more than they are capable of giving. And their giving is finite, while those who are alive, they can give until the great architect says it’s time for them to return to the Ether. And even after that, it can still keep giving. Because energy doesn’t die. It just changes form.

These…well, they don’t have energy. They’re full of…nothing. All that is there is a pitch black void. A dark abyss. Where it is just zero. No hate, no love, no desire, no rejection, no fear, no bravery. Just…nothing.