B22: The Hive and the Hole

“Man gets used to everything, the scoundrel.”

- Fyodor Dostoyevsky

In his blissful repose of nothingness

He will face his festering sores

In this demented space of the Otherworld.

There was never any choice in free will

I am the hunter and the game.

On this inch of Eden,

Lies the pride and the shame.

Everywhere and nowhere,

An outer world / An inner haven.

But there were never martyrs here,

So, climb down from your fucking cross.

There is a war to win.

The mirror need not ask for contrition

But ‘worse’ is a widening hole;

An infernal river to the sea.

In the demented space of the Otherworld,

Every face is an object of disgust

That further multiplies the terror.

Here, a cognitive dissonance exists.

The Devil gave a voice to free will

To the passion and the pain

Until I break the fevers, or the vision is in vain

I bled for a slavish art,

Into the hive and the hole

Who knew these writhing hands

Could be damned with a decent heart.

[But] In the end it may all be for nothing.

Wailing in Job-like lamentations

Bedevilled in exile,

In times of famine, the Devil feeds on flies

Beckon the dance into abyssal fire

Through reigning narrows,

Inborn and outward bound

Deface and grind the glory

For the hive and the hole.

In horror. In terror. In disgust.

Those whom the gods would destroy,

they first make mad.

To hell with the gods in this abyssal fire

Wailing in Job-like lamentations

Bedevilled in exile,

In times of famine, the devil feeds on flies

As we beckon the dance into abyssal fire

Inborn and outward bound

Deface and grind the glory

For the hive And the hole.