I awake remembering
|
nothing the next day,
|
my nostrils assailed
|
by the stench of decay
|
Dreams of dismemberment,
|
fantasies of torture
|
Mopping up affords me a
|
reminiscense of death;
|
Gooey bits and pieces
|
are all that is left
|
|
Stench of rot: uplifting smell
|
Someone's dead or at least unwell;
|
What little is left smells impure;
|
Who did this? I'm not sure
|
|
No conscience interferes with
|
my memories of blood;
|
PSI energy remains
|
where a human once stood;
|
I equate its suffering with
|
the longevity of a ghost
|
Who lasts the longest
|
is who suffered the most
|
|
-----------------
|
Memories of Blood
|
| Cryptopsy |
