Dedman’s Morbid Mausoleum Of Dark Poetry: Aesthetical Massacre of Experience

Dedman’s Morbid Mausoleum Of Dark Poetry: Aesthetical Massacre of Experience

“Whisper your sins to me as I am your Grand Inquisitor, the master of your torment and pain,
The tools of my trade promise nothing more but sheer brutality and a torrent of sanguine rain;

Secrets kept hidden in the shadow of cognition will be heard by ears in octaves that are profane,
Shrieking has polytonality that sends shivers through the spine that make it infeasible to refrain;

Arterial spray stipples the face as a grotesque mask of gore, a portrait of necromantic glamour,
A canvas of flesh aches for expression as I muse where to use the clawed end of a hammer;

Fingernails pulled and bones broken in a symphony of anguish not seen since the days of Inquisition,
Delight taken in spasms of distress as we press forward to unknown boundaries of this expedition;

Amputation is the butchers delight as the saw screams in triumph during the removal of flailing limbs,
Organs shine in the paleness of the light as necropsy begins like turning pages for the proper hymns;

Rapture that you thought was yours in passing now belongs to me as consciousness begins to fade,

You are now the newest piece in my gallery of sin, painted and sculpted with the brush that is my blade;

Whisper your sins to me as I am your Grand Inquisitor, the master of your torment and pain,
The tools of my trade promise nothing more but sheer brutality and a torrent of sanguine rain…”

Posted by Dedman

Writer for House of Tortured Souls website, Coffin Cuties & Digital Dead Magazines, Podcast Host for The Calling Hours & Owner of Slit of the Wrist Fx

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