Horna/Helvete

Thrown into this dark room. No Light in sight.
Here, I am the merchant of my fears. I weep.
A degeneration unnoticed. Unseen. Unheard. Unable.
Unable to stand. Walk. Sleep. Eat. This is what I've done.
I am the merchant of my hate. I cry.
This is where I lay. A Palace of despair upon whose throne I rest.
A temple to face my thoughts. This temple is burning.
This temple, where the carrion wraith stands ready.
Awaiting the remains of this shattered existence.
The filth and grime of under-achievement ever thickening. An unwashable disease of the mind.
No miracle left to cleanse. This is my temple.
Built on the uncrackable foundation of misery. Memory.
Pillars and girders wrought in the lick of self-wraths fires.
Ever burning. Forever burning. Forever consuming. Ceaseless.
A monument to scar the barest of landscapes.
This is my temple. This is my hell.
An altar to sacrifice what little remains of my soul.
An altar to worship.
But no more. This is my temple. The temple is burning.


I will burn it to the fucking ground.