#Host of Voices

9 messages · Page 1 of 1 (latest)

dense ridge
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Channeling trauma,

I casted collective catharsis
On a choir of the cursed
From a codex containing
Their carried chords—
Their samsara cycles sung in scars.

They conjured my cadence
As both tomb and temple,
Holding sanctity and suffering
In equal, twitching regard.

My body had become their bard,
My breath:
Their bridge to the beyond.

My esophagus:
A sinew-bound sarcophagus
Of screaming sonnets—
Their sing-along swan-song solace supply.

Their rhythms stirred within
Like little snakes beneath my skin.
Their enchantments cracked open my ribs
Just wide enough to let their aching echoes in—

Rippling throughout my tendons,
Their susurrating tendril pens of
Trauma and treachery:
Sketching ever deeper into me.

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I became the vessel for their volatile verbs.
The reliquary of their rancid runes.
The voice-through-which their wretched words writhed.

I opened my lungs to allow everyone's ache—
Granted them rest in my ribcage.

Their stories: shared through sacred possession.
I didn't just recite lines.
I took them in.

I wore their
Heart
Break
And
Death
In my soul,

Cradled as kin.

I let their hate, rage, ruin and sin
Borrow my breath so they could live in wind.

..And now I carry them

..Like myth-fragments crafted into my rhythm.

I'm nurturing their living archive within;

For I am their keeper of keening chaos—
A hollowed out hull, humming hallelujah—
Hanging their heirlooms of hell.

I became a bell beaten by memories.
My throat: their theorem of thundering threnodies.
They deemed my diaphragm a drum-head for the damned.

They lodged their lore in my larynx—
Their chants charring my chest.
My brain became hexed by their unholy text;

A synagogue of demonic sigils etched in every synapse.

They threaded their symphonies into my skin
And left no exit but bloodied spit.

With soul-binding sutures intimately stitched into my quips,
Each vowel I voiced
Was a revenant in motion.
An unending,
Undying
Echo of exorcisms unspoken.

Their ritual-raged regurgitations
Rotted the roots of my teeth—
Group-grief grafted
Into the grain
Of my groan.
(Each sentence soaked
In someone else's storms).

I swallowed unspeakable sentiments—
Spitting sickening syllables
Swished with the sludge
Already clinging to my gums.

No mimicry.
I was the medium.
No performances,
Only pulse.

Left with a lungful of legends and a syntax-scar.

Now I bear their exhausted,
Flickering flames
As if liturgy were ink dripping dogma..

I hush after the horrors
As they hang in the air..

And I breathe their pain
So they can be wind again,
Lest undead dread become unsaid.

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crystal swanBOT
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@dense ridge has sent a notification! - @haughty sage @bitter saddle @clear prairie @chrome cosmos @gaunt sky @onyx zodiac @odd axle @trail rock @modest stone @tropic trail @tall badger @eager ice @timber rose @bronze sage @warped plank @low needle @terse rune @keen marsh @blissful cave @robust drum @oak drift @wild epoch @lapis silo @tribal quail @cyan socket @pulsar pier @near rock @solid lily @cerulean anchor @woeful totem @wooden flume @kind escarp @raven girder @livid ridge @red verge @ashen leaf @burnt robin @valid sparrow @gritty goblet

gritty goblet
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wot a banger 🔥

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v good read, thank you for sharing friend!

dense ridge