Unheeded

The ageless sensations of ached-for libations that pour down my throat like cascading venom, leased from the highest peaks in the most vile of places. I'm frantically shitting in every direction, hurtling backwards towards resurrection. The gods are speaking, but the words are beyond me. A warning, a reason, a chance at glory, the meaning is there but the truth of it is simple: I will make you loathe me. I will be symbolic of your hatred, bucolic if you need it. My addictions are all contradictions. My escapes are just aversions of fate.

I've grown so tired of the smell of new flesh. So fond of the scent of decay.

I hunger for power, for more to devour, my bent is self-destruction, but I'd rather destroy you. I told you the day we were spat from the snarling bowels of this place that you would never come to love me. I will only bring disgrace, distaste, dispassionte negatives. You'll become an off-white shade in the gray space between my vices. I'm filled with viscous fluids that are caustic to the touch. I wish that I could take you home, but I'd have to kill everything that you love.

I've grown so weary of being adored. One more time, I must be abhorred.

There are no words in waiting. No final chapter for this. Remember what I told you and not what you meant. Talking in circles will get you nowhere with yourself. The only one talking in circles is Hel.


Utterly Without Compassion,
-S.R.