Oh what a gal!
She seems such a perfect victim:
This I can tell, for if beauty by guilt,
she's guilty

Ordinarily,
I'd not wish to frighten her or hurt her,
But such beauty inspires one
to give the gift of murder

She's the kind of girl you want to
run up and tackle through a window some floors up
and spatter you both to hell

Come and get it;
your stuffed bunny's at the window,
But not that far out...
Reach little one! Reach!...

O most luscious cenobite,
you wield your whip
as though it were another appendage;
Favor me with pleasure-pain,
rip me with your claws
Chew me with your saw-toothed cunt

Dead eyes alive with darkness to match their sockets,
they blaze with unmatched cruelty
Leave those long thorns embedded in your scalp,
They look stuck in far enough to hurt

Hell's polyhedron has blessed you
Your peerless beauty drips of sin
In this time of configuration,
blessed order shall prevail
Two sides to the war on flesh
Leviathan, who can't smile, beams

Encased in leather as it is,
I can't drink from your neck
It shall remain its soft, cold, blue-white:
I'll bind your pround breasts with barbed wire
I wish to partake of their nectar... Is it pus?

I might breach your zippers
and open your face
I might gag you with an urchin
I long to hear a quiet sight escape
your lovely lips as I bite your fettered, smooth thighs

Love subverted, lust perverted
Bitch-goddess Abigor's pretty face
can mask her suffering
Make you worship both her and her needles

Subjugate it, perforate it,
flesh reordered isflesh of use
I now rededicate my life
to what Abigor has shown me

I've learned to control my thoughts
ever since I recognized the first eavesdropper:
those who listen in on my thoughts,
my logic, my sanity

I cannot let them know I don't know
the verses, or converse in my head:
lash out at future foes,
banter with friends I've not yet met

The psychoaggressive minions of
your lord mock with laugher I can't hear,
with hidden scowls they admonish me

Nothing's sacred, Nothing's safe:
your filthy god is omnipresent,
this undying nonentity that haunts
my every waking dream

They watch me, his mortal flock,
they know me now by sight alone:
my thoughts are too well concealed...
Yet I sense more scrutiny

Fleeting lucidity's too loud for me,
let me be my silent self:
our existences irreconciled

Make them stop! I'm rotting fast...
The answer, painful though it may be,
is change

Alter my outer shell...
The listener's may not, then, know it's me
Open Face Surgery: short of pain
and long on masquerade
Ounce by ounce, lose a little weight
nip here, tuck there... So who needs eyelids?

Something's come over me... I can't bear to see you live
Between lies, between sins that bespeak iniquity

I just want to hold your pretty hand
The rest of you can be dissolved in acid
I just want to hold your pretty hand

Purified of their sins, fornicators will be purged
Breath of god: wind of change
I ride, (and) you will meet your death... whore

I just want to hold your pretty hand
The rest of you can be dissolved in acid
You've payed for this death with all your sin. Die.

You're not emoting:
one of us will have to dig deeper;
These are my cheek nails:
Penetration, though unclean,
can make you bleed
in so many interesting ways;
I rend your flesh and caress your fears
as you weep

Human tragedy...
Let this be a lesson to you, it's symbolic
Let this dirt define your grave

Midmortemtorment,
ornament of dandling flesh;
Why do you vomit?
You should have seen the last one I did:
I chewed it to a paste and spit it out
when I was done, yet the gummy taste
of anus still smothers my tongue

Girth control, to me, is considered an art;
Fat's fully excised as I tear you apart;
my maleficence is as deep aas it can get:
I derive enjoyment from cruel torture
and messy death

I tear your legs from their sockets
to ease my pilfering of your pockets
Better for you if you'd been born headless
Blame your mother you weren't born headless

Now that it's over, you'll be remembered,
but not missed, swathed in cerements
to keep in the precious cold

I turn and pass away in violence an gunfire;
the earth soaks up my brain...
I see myself as I've been

I see myself

Man-made doom bled death from the sky;
to all but a few, salvation was denied
Heavenly father, son and holy ghost,
save your servants (those of us who aren't toast)

The not-yet-dead discovered that to be
a nuclear family means a whole new thing;
All-too-trusting shambling pseudomorphs
put their trust in a man of the cloth

Make them hate you, rotting cleric...
Remember, you are pu of my loins, you are pus

Give voice to your left side, let me in:
I've sawn the seeds of your redemption;
In subhumanicide, I am your guide:
seventy-seven times make them die

The sun is shining on a brand new day
Blackened corpses smolder where they slain;
Self-flagellation prompts him to confess:
Bless me father, for I made this mess

Immolation meant to purify sin wracked souls
Let diseased bodies die; survivors twice lost:
Betrayed in fire, by the Swine of the Cross

Ungentle exhumation
Must be thorough, remove it all
Catalogue every part,
Then rape them and eat them

How dare them bury
what should be mine
My dead companions
on which I dine

Penetrate the dead hole
Please, O lord, just let it smell
and let mankind's puniverse
be befouled just for me

My graveside manner
lacks no finesse
These ravaged bodies
betray no distress

As I tear apart the dead things
I annoint them with my seed
and gain new insights into death
with their consumption
Yet I wonder,
What if I were something dead?

Somewhere there's a graveyard of ghouls
with a massive headstone
that waits just for me;
Maybe someday
Someone will come

I awake remembering
nothing the next day,
my nostrils assailed
by the stench of decay
Dreams of dismemberment,
fantasies of torture
Mopping up affords me a
reminiscense of death;
Gooey bits and pieces
are all that is left

Stench of rot: uplifting smell
Someone's dead or at least unwell;
What little is left smells impure;
Who did this? I'm not sure

No conscience interferes with
my memories of blood;
PSI energy remains
where a human once stood;
I equate its suffering with
the longevity of a ghost
Who lasts the longest
is who suffered the most

Abobinated, tiny god of mine
Overseeing my rest, my lust, my life

Torched in hatred
Loved in Horror sublime
Almost formless
Darkened, and yet you shine

You made me in your image
I deformed yours into mine
Now we're even, O loving god
Equals in my melting eyes

Mutant christ, loving christ
Know me with thine naked eyes
Holy christ, one tenth the size
So unlike the other christs

God-made man (with)
man-made god to adore
Idolatry?
My faith has been restored

Gaze upon me
Bless me, lord, or die
I'll find another little lord to fry

You baked me in this image
so I burned yours into mine
Eye for eye and tooth for tooth
I love you now, O twisted christ

Mutant Christ

Who is this Geoffrey?
All I see is this cold cadaver
Why is this Geoffrey
lying in puddles of pus on a gurney?
Tell me of this Geoffrey,
this boy with a noose around his neck;
More about Geoffrey:
why is he wearing his mother's bra?

How old was Geoffrey?
At a guess, I'd say
about twelve or thirteen;
He died accidentally
from auto-erotic asphyxiation;
He'd been masturbating...
our little stiff still has one on
and it's been one week!

The resurrection men
took their sweet time
Cross-dressed fruit:
what a way to die!
Now he's ours:
the apple of our eve;

Fetch the dead sphincter:
cold green meat
How did his ass taste?
Tender and sweet...

And then we fucked it...