| My chest aches, this night quakes, the pressure is inside of the real. The attention is in all of my Intentions. I can't be effortless, if I'm going to Nail your wrist to the Board. Crucify you. Sacrafice you. Your not the martyr, your the murdered. Dead, lifeless, Fucker. The blade sinks into your skin, I'm gutting you like a Fish, your organs spill before me, I can't help but ignore this. after all. Iv done it before this. The stench of your intestins, the Blood that keeps flowing. Your liver that will soon be thrown into a River, eaten like a small wormy sliver. Your lungs, bloody and whitish gray, what else can I say? Your heart, I'll tear apart, and eat it. As you slowly die. My blade rises to your throat. I'll make you. The Murdered Scapegoat. Suffer, Burn, since you never learned. Now that your hollow and strapped to the cross with barbwire, now that your nailed by the palms and wrists to the Board thats horizontal. Now that your head is held on by a Wire around her spine to the Vertical board. I think, I'll say this final word.. "Art." |
