HOME | DD

Description
To those that remain after the horde
Spills through and picks your ragged meat-hooks clean—
To those, I say:

Let not the sharpness of my teeth
Prove daunting, for your eyes are sharper still
And make me blush.

Let not the pallor of my skull
Deter you, for had I any hairs upon my pate
You’d pluck them dry.

Yours are the mouths that shape my words,
The claws that pull my collar towards you.
You are the Makers now

And I am that which you have fashioned,
Milky-white excrescence of the manifold mind,
Pearlescent horror.

There was a Savior once, but
Your gods ate him, and Sunday after Sunday consume
Him still, as rats will do.

Description
To those that remain after the horde
Spills through and picks your ragged meat-hooks clean—
To those, I say:

Let not the sharpness of my teeth
Prove daunting, for your eyes are sharper still
And make me blush.

Let not the pallor of my skull
Deter you, for had I any hairs upon my pate
You’d pluck them dry.

Yours are the mouths that shape my words,
The claws that pull my collar towards you.
You are the Makers now

And I am that which you have fashioned,
Milky-white excrescence of the manifold mind,
Pearlescent horror.

There was a Savior once, but
Your gods ate him, and Sunday after Sunday consume
Him still, as rats will do.