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Pity for the hardened screaming end of life

a former comfort or a lack of self

it’s not over now its just the tip of a greater fall

a greater fall

my second hand devotion is a first hand myth

a myth that echoes in the body, Manipulate

feed me tragic stories through rusted metal tubes

i prefer you’re leather skin to the corpse i know

or the savageness trapped in you’re eye

push the bottom deeper

bring us closer

self unable satiate

not one with you’re flesh

an unfelt betrayal

Pinnacle

pinnacle of the archetype

Spends its life in gangbang degradation

try and transcend

pull me out of my body

i won’t ammend

this smell is so heavy

Transcend

in dreams i bury you in my veins

With no emotion

Scrapped from the throat

of a wounded child

pull me out of my body

The pigs run wild.