Durch befleckte Berührung meiner Nemesis - Bethlehem

Vielleicht, Unerwartet,

lie?

ein Skorpion jenes los

was man jetzt noch nicht wu?

te und gefiel sich als in Stein gemei?

eltes Blut

auf den Schwingen seines Hodens

Die vermeintlichen Grade deiner verschatzten Ohnmacht

umflie?

en gar zu verschamt den Gottrasierten Blick

in die rohe Dunkelheit eines verwaisten Pferdeauges

Eine zweite Schere erlangt Erlaubnis

uber funffache Trauer

und nicht gerade das Chaos

wirkt als Kluft

Denn wenn sich eine Flammenkreatur

in den selbstgewahlten Tod tanzt

Und dunkler Reigen

zu den hehren Klangen des Seraphs cilt,

verhallt der Gedanke an berstendes Treibgut

wie ein gekreuzigter Aal,

dessen Bildnis uber den Rand des Bewegten Abgrundes schreitet

Kein Lodern erreicht mich

und niemand ist bereits dort

Wo mein Tod mit dem Zerwurfnis

einer versklavten Wurzel liebaugelt

Kein Nagelschatten zerrei?

t in der Stille

Meiner unterwurfigen Heimkehr

Doch nur zu direkt setzt sich ein kurzes Gehenk

uber die verbrauchte Scham meiner dunklem Glut hinweg

Totgeglaubte Nachlassigkeit hetzt mit Vehemenz

durch die aschfahle Brut einer bratfertigen Liebe

Und der einst gerade Balken ist nun angewinkelt

Und tragt den Docht nicht mehr

Possibly, unexpected

Allowing a Scorpion that

Of what we still don’t know

And let it fall in sculptured blood

By the Swing of his scrotum

The Putatives Grade your pre-judging swoon

Overflowing bashfully to the view of a Shaved God

in the brutal Darkness of an abandonded Horse eye

A second Scissor obtains admission

over fivefolds of sorrow

and it wasn’t just the Chaos

knitted like clothes

Then when a flaming creature did it in the self-chosen dances of death

And the Darker ones lead

The Seraphs who hurriedly chase the sounds

To Keep back the thoughts of Bursting

A pissed Eel,

Whose effigy steps over the edge of the Abyss

No Flames reach me and no one is already there

Where my death Discords with

an Enslaved toy base

No Nail Shadows tears through the stillness

Of my submissive return home

Yet, only to Directly sit itself on a shorter sword belt

Over the consumed shame of my darken ardor

Death Believes negligence instigates with vehemence

across the pale ashes that broods a ready to fry Love

and the once straight beam is now bent

and strapped to the wick no more

maybe unexpected

lie?

a scorpion that rid

what you don't know yet?

te and pleased as set in stone?

old blood

on the wings of his testicles

The supposed degrees of your estimated powerlessness

flow around

en even too bashful the god-shaved look

into the raw darkness of a deserted horse's eye

A second pair of scissors obtains permission

over fivefold mourning

and not exactly the chaos

acts as a gap

Because if there is a flame creature

dances to self-chosen death

And dark dance

to the sublime sounds of the seraph cilt,

the thought of bursting flotsam dies away

like a crucified eel,

whose portrait strides over the edge of the moving abyss

No blaze reaches me

and no one is already there

Where my death with the rift

toying with an enslaved root

No nail shadow tear?

t in silence

My submissive homecoming

But only too directly does a short go

over the spent shame of my dark glow

Negligence believed to be dead rushes with vehemence

through the ashen spawn of a ready-to-cook love

And the once straight beam is now angled

And wear the wick no more

Possibly, unexpectedly

Allowing a Scorpion that

Of what we still don't know

And let it fall in sculpted blood

By the swing of his scrotum

The Putatives Grade your pre-judging swoon

Overflowing bashfully to the view of a Shaved God

in the brutal darkness of an abandoned horse eye

A second Scissor obtains admission

over fivefolds of sorrow

and it wasn't just the chaos

knitted like clothes

Then when a flaming creature did it in the self-chosen dances of death

And the Darker ones lead

The Seraphs who hurriedly chase the sounds

To keep back the thoughts of bursting

A pissed Eel,

Whose effigy steps over the edge of the Abyss

No flames reach me and no one is already there

Where my death Discords with

an Enslaved toy base

No Nail Shadows tears through the stillness

Of my submissive return home

Yet, only to directly sit itself on a shorter sword belt

Over the consumed shame of my darkened ardor

Death Believes negligence instigates with vehemence

Across the pale ashes that broods a ready to fry Love

and the once straight beam is now bent

and strapped to the wick no more