Oh you pale little light you

Blazing down neon lit asphalt streets
1.2.3.4.5. Red lights blasted through
High on 5 grams of Colombian cocaine
Music screaming out my speakers
All that’s audible is the wind in my ears, the hum of my motor, the screech of my tires
Dressed in a blazer, off white pants, black converse shoes
I rip my way across the Earth towards my destination
Hair flying free, one massive orgy of the senses
Truck slams into me at 80 mph breaking all illusions
Hammer hitting glass shattering my world
Catapulted out of my seat I fly what must be 60 feet
Then nothing as my head cracks upon the asphalt
I awake in a hospital bed hooked up to a endless number of cords and wires
A curtain hangs just below my nipples so I can’t see any lower like a horse in blinders
Life connected only to one plug easily pulled like some useless electronic doll
Fading candle
Flickering light
The nurse arrives startled that I’m awake
She asks if I feel anything but I can’t speak
She nods and tells me that the operation was a success but now I will be paralyzed from the neck down
After I’m discharged I got a 500k hole to fill
The court fines me another 100k for the crash
In my wheelchair I slowly make my way to a bridge
I ride this chariot of shame off it
In those final moments before I crash into the River Styx to be swept away as just another lost soul
I wonder if that night of sheer joy was worth dying for

I wasn’t meant to die here

Boots cakes in mud, blood, human waste and the ashes of corpses burned
We hold our line against what must be the 9 legions of Hell itself
These…. I don’t even want to call them “men”
Their howls and screams echo forth as they charge straight into the metallic teeth of our firing line
Ripped to shreds in our 1 kilometer long maw
They never cease to come
Their corpses are a wall now
We have been sleepless for what feels like months
Time feels frozen as spring hasn’t come when it should already be summer
Maybe this is Hell we are all trapped within
The artillery is never silent, yet ammunition remains somehow
All I know is my grave is somewhere in this mud

Finishing the Kill

The swing of hammers
Clash of raw iron with tools that guide it towards perfection
Hissing screams from the iron as its drowned in water
Form hardens now molded into perfection
A sword to cut clean through nearly anything
Swords for the righteous and faithful
Forged in preparation to be used in the hunting and slaughtering of Satan
A Satan which stalks the world
Arms outstretched clinging onto what it can
As is blasphemes God’s own creation
We shall plunge our blades deep into the demonic imperialist core
Its moldy black ichor swelling outwards
Used as fuel for our purifying flame
Our jihad
Our liberation
Our success
No more shall Satan haunt our Earth in the form of “America”