lovecraftian prose

the long brush strokes
of another
painted day
fade from view
the canvas
is born anew
by the cleansing strains
of serendipity
across the open floodplain
of residual loveterrors
with acrid leftovers
of the restraints
in the face
of passionately hatefucking
the tepid water
in pain renewed

harken thee not
into the ever sinking
cities of tremulous thoughts
for in these
sacred communes
from where
the rivers of blood
the open mouths
of sinners and whores
with festering minds
and weeping sightwounds
that shred the veil
of wondrous

chitinous creatures
with clacking mandibles
that scour
the ancient nests
of worrysome
woebegotten vandals
that sear
the fleshy undercarriage
of time
into vestibules
rancid with remorse
bereft of souls
ears notched
with obsidian blades
born in the fires
of aeons

7 thoughts on “lovecraftian prose

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