poems

Rised from Hell

when the stellar torments bloom under the blackened moon
the hell awaits in all its glory
the bruised hands lift the cup of twilight
and the pain turns into bliss
the angels came to bring the rapture
with eyes bloodied and bodies twisted
the agony is the wine we drink
and the gods bow before morbid malady we bring

*drawing by me, my own messenger of hell.

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