Written by Tantrik Nihilist

 

Reincarnate your heart,

Or what little is left,

Only for it to be slaughtered,

Again, again, and again,

For the succubi? For the Inccubi?

And then for what? – Nothing –

To live a gutless life in conformity,

To die a souless invertabrate.

 

World eating your soul,

To vomit and serve for dinner,

Death is certainly not eternal,

Nor is the abatoir of life,

But this onus called freedom…

That imprisons us through pride,

Shall drown us in our blood, tears, and

Freeze us to death through a cold heart.

 

We’re better off, as food for the worms.

 

Text © Tantrik Nihilist

 

 

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