
| Art Of Filth |
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| By: Anny Sylvie |
| Broken fingers of murderous hands Stained and blackened by a filthy art Eyes. Sunken sockets of soot and jelly Alone Clouded mind released into hideous dreaming Still there, in the stagnant air, smoldering bones Exhibit carved shapes and symbols Someone’s unfinished business Infinite, empty, raging malice Thoughts race and tangle, useless webs Lost in rocking nausea, catatonia Wandering. Lust. Spiritual dementia Broken shards of glass and splintered wood Inserted into soft pink tissues Slicing through all the senses Tongue of gravel, slithering against teeth Grinding away at some ageless disease Bells breaking in the distance Stained and blackened by this filthy art |

| The Life of the Dead |
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| By: Anny Sylvie |
| Something oozed into my mind A brain, content in infinite dreaming Awakened and flooded with a single thought The urge to consume the living The twist of the force That pulled from my grave Made me to stand on worm-holed feet To walk as the flesh slithered From my body, now my prison Dragging myself, a rotted shell Decomposed, and still I walk Stench is sickening Limbs are stiffening Compelled to satisfy A hunger that never subsides I long for the soft soil The comfort of the box, the silence Now I am hexed, sick for flesh I find a small woman Vulnerable and appetizing Her screams send me into madness With every whimper I long for Darkness My blackened teeth penetrate Her life fades as I devour Her sweet meats to the bone Drunk on gore, I feel satiated I pray for death, for release Then the hunger rages So I drudge on To my next forsaken feast |