WHIP POETRY
 
 
 
 

 

SUDDEN impulses
provoking unknown pleasures.
Not yet knowing how to resist.
Your bleeding soul settles
far from where it is to be found.

author unknown
ca. 1790

 

 

DO not care it is raining.
Been to the cemetery today.
Rain always makes me feel remit,
washes away my grief.
Want to take a bath in the graveyard.
Purity to my soul.
I feel it comes straight falling off
the sky constantly,
want to dig a hole and
disappear to recreate my scent
of virginity,
want to suffer,
want to rest deeply hidden away,
where no one else can reach.
Be buried in sweet and bitter
gallons of tears.
Want to drift away
from pain and sorrows.

Evil Child X ,
ca. 1980, aged 7

 
 

 

DREADFUL illuminations
Umbra sizzling up the moon
Shadows imaginations
clan of xymox raised the doom
Dimm the cradle as it comes
In crematories soon it turns
Moon spells up the graveyard
Oh, sister, taim the dark nights soon!
Welcome to the massacre
Slowly reaching out the graves
Creep in silence, bleeding beauty,
dripping slow, feed me low.
Give birth to darkness
Evil does not scare
It fills my veins
Full, my army of desire
Oh, this army of my pain!

Crematorria

    

" My life I live fullfilled with disgust , which guides me on all my ways - hate it with lust! Disgust, disgust my only friend until my body turns to dust!"

Desdemonia

 

 

 

 

BLACK ASHES
Sin and shame
Descendance of my innocence
A stigma diabolicum
No perspectives-it´s too dark!
Seduced by your inheritance
Nihilistic pain
A sentensed gift of death
No perspectives- it´s too dark!
Subway to disease
No way back from Sathanas
Dogma harmful, love my blood
No perspectives- it´s too dark!

Crematorria

 

 
FRANTICLY hellcat surfed onto
the tuned skyline of my blunted conscience,
shall grief ignore walls and fences,
in between the bells of plain wisdom
shallow graves will be sewers of the unspoken
and thy will be unborn

La Creature