Fury

[vivid brook]

Part One:

Seething hatred, breaking apart the fettered demons a recreation in the image of plague.
A bleeding acrid taste of a thousand teetering blood smeared lips,
a confusion lost in,
the ultimate destination we make.

The searing sin,
the aversion to our next of kin,
tearing down the wheels against the blinding lights of electric lash and world weary eyes,
trudging through a muck of gently spattered and squelching lies.

The matted stink of fishers fins,
their beastly hands slip and quiver,
a vice-grip upon dusty palms,
slid against our heels a buckled stupor heralded to comfort...
as these drones collude and confuse the spies.

Robotic rabbits wrangle and ribbit raw frog fingers fettered,
tempered to the incisors glean as the throats slippery scream,
dissects them all within squashing minced languished imprints,
seemingly innocent yet tall and splashed...
with a caustic staggering momentary pause.

An excruciating yet penetrating space deep within the frothy folds of undulating flesh,
infinitesimal as divides the lance and conquers all within a glance...
and still the wars forever rage in fury.

Part Two:

An elaborate tangle of allure,
misery and awkward violence...
casually spun on every rung of the misbegotten fruits,
churned within machine,
and spat outside rend upon waterfall of pain,
spiral drains of acid and morbidity.

The broken pity,
an unsung ditty to the dull allure of this hiss of steamy rain...
as we ourselves uncover the true shattered sunken sewers of sin...
in which the lost have never been without.

And despite our doubt the words are stolen
and fed back within again wrenched upon
the shined razor-sharp hooks
of bubbling brooks filled with hissing steam...
these streams busted and aqueducts rusted.

In twisted rhyme and unison we bend and snap reason back again
just to commit treason against those we love the most.
And so the maligned malevolence of parasite overwhelms it’s host...
and sinks into a vile violet glow.

A toast to the now warped and mangled tranquillity we take for granted
grazing upon fields of Elysium and throughout all eternity.
The late trinity of soul spirals up and down an inferno within tornado
writhing low within the suffering of all we could’ve been.

A drool and spit of sleazy hymn forever in this dimly lit hollow soul of everlasting night...
that cruel, crudeness of light.

The encrusted hate that never wanes and continues on forevermore,
blasting apart the stagnant fort of unending doors and fevered floods of folklore to the floor.
Like the whirling tarot maze of cavernous contingencies upon the cards,
flying to and fro, hither and yon,
and scrawl of setting sun.

Till the tale is told withered underneath wearied laze,
and glazed in gold the eyes now buried in a sunken haze.

Part Three:

Soiled and oiled rags,
a race to riches amidst the grimace of mildew and mold
that stench of haunted halls of spoiled swampy aristocratic moors,
the sliver and bore, that open sore…
of gashed secretions leak.

Fighting and raging to reach the peak,
wincing between the weak,
ever outstretched towards the miles n miles of narcissistic smiles
in the lathered mist of compliments that miss,
and twist within the bliss of misguided ignorance.

This is the morbid thrust of death,
into which our breath forever goes without,
and in-between our doubts and inconsistencies we heave
and throw ourselves at the pale objects of inconsequential disease n fleas.

Always with a deadened lofty glare
towards torn twisted climactic kaleidoscopic ever twirling testament of threes.
We pathetically summon solace as we the tortured and furious endure
yet always beyond this realms sealed in straight jacket of chemical confinement
we the cursed chosen few seek release.

As fury itself ignites a flame and vengeance flares it’s streak and spark
across these endless deep and dark,
forever disturbed desolate seas of man-kinds perpetual unease,
onward, and ever onward.

And always masked within the fabricated façade of threes,
these are fickle ways with which we weave,
with no sight of reprieve,
always onwards and onwards still,
and always in threes.

@quick cairn

[signal shard]

HELL YEAH NEW WOLFMEISTER JUST DROPPED

[sacred helm]

There's a lot here! I'll give more detailed feedback when out of call

[round willow]

@vivid brook has sent a notification! - @robust frost @wispy wind @steel bramble @austere trellis @signal shard @wanton herald @buoyant sluice @old cipher @shrewd basin @hard minnow @copper creek

[copper creek]

"The broken pity, an unsung ditty to the dull allure of this hiss of steamy rain as we ourselves uncover the true shattered sunken sewers of sin in which the lost have never been without."
and the metaphors, from "robotic rabbits" to "a vile violet glow" "a vice-grip upon dusty palm" ohh man. Its a PEAK visionary piece.
And yes
always in threes.

[plucky helm]

Awesome!