Susperating,pulsating,gleaming wetly around me,the rotting womb of a world that is all I've ever known.
The only movement,the pumping sway as it takes itself,the only sound the tortured scream as it rapes itself again.
The Beast feeds upon itself,raping itself to birth more of itself to feed,gorging itself ,suffering fulfilling it's only need.
Within it's darkness are points of light shining with might,nearly hidden by swarms of the unclean.
As children of the Beast,we fight for release,no act too vile could ever demean.
Virtue attracts us like moths to the flame. So densely they are packed,they obscure the light:the very thing they seek.
They restore the darkness,hiding the flame,they remove the hope and the strong again devour the meek.
I will not waste my power in a losing fight,for now I hide in the shadows,waiting for their strength to fade.
One day I will slip past their sight,then they will know their doom has been made.
For now,I marshall my strength and bide my time for the day I will break through and join with the light.
For now I will dream of promise and random rhyme and wait for the chance to wield my might.
Will it see past my scars and shattered screams,through to my inner worth? Will it see my skills as such,vital for life within the Beast,or will it feed me to the Beast which gave me birth.
Patience is a virtue, but virtue has never been one of my redeeming qualities.
[This message has been edited by DreamEvil (edited 07-09-99).]
[This message has been edited by DreamEvil (edited 07-14-99).]