Mato and The Shooter

 

 

 

wouldn’t it be convenient?
to have someone else suffer the pain for you
to have someone else hurt and bleed in your place
wouldn’t the world be a better place then?

you will no longer hate and be hated
you will no longer cry and be cried for

someone fighting our battles for us
someone taking the bullet and pulling the trigger
wouldn’t our hands be a little cleaner then?

one who could never die
one who would never taste the bitterness of death and inexistence
one who will be forever grateful that you’ve given him a chance to exist
one who would never hate and leave you for what you have done
for what you have become

someone in the far reaches of our own imagination
kept safe by the ancient magic that we call dreams
beyond the valleys of old
beyond the plains of seething envy
past the beating core of the Seer’s heart

 

 

 

 

 

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Ping(her)

brittle fingers
tainted beyond recognition
entangled and impotent
useless

clawing for redemption
they make love with the blacks and the whites in futility

they have witnessed horror after horror
have grasped death itself and bathed in unclean crimson

putrid fingers
rotten beyond salvation
stiff and pathetic
useless

clawing for redemption
they make love with the blacks and shun the whites fumbling to make grace

they have been my company
through lust and gluttony, wrath and envy

sever and burn them
tools of misery
sever and lock them
my little servants of death

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Push or Pull?

i miss work during my rest days
and i want to just lay in bed whenever i’m at work
ugh

it sickens me
this feeling that i’m runnin in circles in spite of the burning thought that i am runnin out of time
that i wait to wake up just to long for sleep again
it sickens me to my very bones.
and i feel helpless because i know for now i can’t do anything about it
yet i wanna be able to do something, anything, about it! arrg!
it friggin irritates me to know my weaknesses yet i’m incapable of great change because of them

caught in a freaking wake of a dream

it scares me
this, this sick quicksand of boredom i’m constantly being pulled into.
it’s gooey. and it smells like yesterday.
ugh
pull me out. (even that sounds dirty lmao)
you, i need intervention, i need your intervention

get me outta here

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A sudden burst of lucidity

would it be a transgression to ask you to stay Your hand?
would it add to my debts if I hope for Your grace?

I tried to live without rules, voided my consciousness of the weight of any consequences
lived and did things in my own convenience

would I insult Your name if i pray to be redeemed once again?

I have detached myself from any belief and sought answers by embracing the claws of logic, blinded by the cycle of believing and yet denying itself in an ardous and repetitive manner

I must admit, I have not found an answer, only more questions
have not been able to chase the mist away, only add more delusions

have I not Your mercy, my Lord?

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Who calls thee?

Farewell sanity.

Let’s go back to the shell.
To the cage.
To our fortress.

I’m tired of thinking.

This place has become a place of hurting.
Everything has gone too cold.

Uncertainty and paranoia.
We cannot bathe in them anymore.

Let’s go back.

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Perdants, problème?

horrah.

we won the championship.

it was worth it.

wew.

i would’ve happily embraced the Reaper after that final cross.
that fateful cross.
weeeeee.
haha.

~

it’s just sad that it
had to end with such awkwardness.
i wanted to hug them.

i would love to exchange places with them, give them my share of the victory.

haay.
why do they have to betray us.
why do they have to be so greedy.

~

anyway.
serves ’em right.
assholes.
haha.

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who will save u…

who will save us?

when our worlds collide, who will redeem us from ourselves?

when we’re both too tired to speak, who will ease our doubts?

who will save us?

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I eat clovers for breakfast, bastard.

Who are you to tell me how to do my work.

Luck of the draw?

Well, fuck you, sir.

I hope you and your precious lap dog rot in hell.

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Do you get any …

Do you get any satisfaction from the fact that somebody, if not everybody, hates you and curses your existence?

Does it pleases you everytime someone spits at your name?

You know your worth.
You know that you will never be more capable than I am.

You are trash.
You are nothing.
An emboli.

Nothing but dead weight upon my back.
You are nothing.

I will smile down on you as you lay bleeding and pleading for salvation.

I will savor every stab.
I shall laugh as I drain the life out of you.
I will see to it that you will never taste a quick death.

You will suffer through every stab.
You will fear my laughs.
You will wish and beg for the end but I will deny you of it.

Because you are nothing.

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Yume

torn flesh.
hands bathed in crimson.
smoke rising from a distance.
screams lulling me.
my vision blurs.

footsteps follow me.
shadows dance behind.
i run as fast as i can.
chest tightens.
legs grow tired.

 

“why?”

 

mouth muffled with a bloody gag.
fingers outstretched, clawing no one.
pulse racing.
anticipation peaks.
i release a heavy sigh.

 

“no, don’t please!”

 

a glint of metal.
eyes screaming inaudible pleas.
blade disappears behind a curtain of flesh.

“please stop!”

tears mix with blood.
saliva bubbling with fear.
each stab inexplicably satisfies the hunger.

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