Sawat13

Horror is like a serpent; always shedding its skin, always changing. Where there is no imagination, there is no horror. His is risen and f*ck the God tarnation. And the individual elements become difficult to distinguish. You are dead for the good of forsaken–God the savior is doomed to the eternal abyss. Jesus Christ can't defeat the devil and Satan's wrath has foiled the lord! oh, confound it, where is the thing, our thing? Our thing of all goddamn hope. Has it been lost, concealed from the rest of the world. Well expose your secrets now before I find Death’s cold embrace before it’s too late and before Hell will rise! Heaven is gone, and behold, the demon, has awaken! Tell us what you lack ... the ability to love!? You have wonderful hatred, my dear old Satan. I felt a funeral, in my brain. As my dear family is dying! Am I on the dear break of insanity!? Pale though her eyes–is my dear sister as she throws despair around every corner. A last word, my fucking last word. of the last faith I'll ever have. Can you hear the curse of death? As a dying rainbow confronts the black cloud ahead. The whistle of the wind defines the moment instead; as death begins swallowing up the dead.  Break for the hills, run to the valleys, climb the mountain that will kill your suffering breath. Remember when life was good in your youth? Before your bones began to fail with all the abuse. Time has halted; it is against us, it hates us, it fucks us! your muscles have revolted. We are both abandoned to hurt in the dreadful agony of hell. The mind shuts down while your memories defaulted.  You, my friend, are at an end – for the rainbow you see is only pretend. But I tell you one damn thing: If there is anything worse than evil, it is nothingness. At least evil has a form, and a voice, and a purpose, however depraved. The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks. The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. Grief can overcome a person's ability to live in the present and engage with society. Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! —quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door! The devil is rising, the sin inside me is out pouring out of my chest. Like a hell flood– in the eyes of God, and at night all blood is black, as hell sinks down to earth. Nature’s first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So, first mankind sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. Foulës in the frith, The fishës in the flod, And I mon waxë wod; Much sorwe I walkë with for beste of bon and blod. I am taboo to spruce of in illnesses and depression. I want be water– I want be water, my friend. It's about not being rigid and stubborn about your beliefs, practices, understanding, and instead, about being open-minded and able to change and adapt to the circumstances we are put into. Sadness is also a kind of defense Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought Sadness flies away on the wings of time Sad hurts but it's a healthy feeling. Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality. Conjure the darkness. Gather dark thoughts, creepy feelings, nightmarish stories, or any other thing dark that's lingering in your head and release them to the Satan’s wrath of envy. For that may save your ghost –floating in a death stream of suffering. This is how the world will end.  And without joy. A girl is not risen for the lost soul of the wind– defining chaos and corruption. And to feel degraded or to lose self-respect; now seems like a waste of time, and no mopping of guilt can change how they see my hideousness. I can’t move, breathe, speak or hear and it’s so dark all the time. If I knew it would be this lonely, I would have been cremated instead–boil my bones and guts! I ask the Satan for forgiveness–but that’s to earn, not to be given. For what have I done to prove to God, of any my kindness and generosity. My mother has been screaming at the front door for hours now. She’s not happy that I killed her with my bare hands. I looked out my window. The stars had gone away. You hear the scream across the hallway, but your eyes won’t open and you can’t move. The longer I wore it the more it grew on me. She had such pretty skin. I was having a pleasant dream when what sounded like hammering woke me. After that, I could barely hear the muffled sound of dirt covering the coffin over my own screams. My daughter won’t stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night. I visit her grave and ask her to stop, but it doesn’t help. How long alone with your thoughts in an endless field of white? And then, when a billion eternities have passed, the crashing return of light and form and body. Who wouldn't go insane? It's eternity in there. And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor. I f*ck myself so foolish black, blue and blood. The fall of the Satan’s house, is a terrifying, and extremely realistic depiction of insanity. The mind shuts down while you still have your goddamn dignity— Beneath the moon's pale beams; There, up the cove, to stray and rove, Among the rocks and streams To sport that night. Among the bonny winding banks, Satan devours. Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, I wat they didna weary; And unco tales, and funny jokes, Their sports were cheap and cheery; Till butter'd so'ns, wi' fragrant lunt, Set a' their gabs a-steerin'; Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, They parted aff careerin' Fu' blythe that night. Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, is the fucking devil; Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are, At random from the truth vainly expressed: For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow. That will is be, the ending of my life.  There's the rub. And it is the unblestering woe of me! The God of hell is coming. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season—and the sawat13 of forsaken flames, rain out of the ashes of this damn tragedy.