Axles of Hate
Obsidian pavilions stands tall over fresh grass,
beshadowing aesthetical existence.
A burnt table map covers all purity,
reducing affection to mere filth.
You are scorched from the neck up, and so am I.
I oil the machines, I grease the axles, Ignite the engines.
The pistons of animosity burn, A furnace of abhorrence.
Not winter but worse, drought and decay,
a messiah baptized in wretchedness and anguish, awaiting its crowning.
The flawless shall be deformed forever, Only to be created anew
An impeccable existence to be devoured from within,
to crumble and reform as a beautiful tragedy - a grating symphony of the flesh.
Hounds unleashed by jealousy and pain,
perverted dreams committed upon the weak and hopeless.
A Hierarchy of none, A pyramid of irrelevance
I am the dragon, bestowed upon my subjects,
an oiled and burning hate machine.
Fuel me with your sorrow, imbue me with your helplessness
For under a reign of terror you will thrive and prosper
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