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No. It is The Fall.

Groza

Residual Blight: I alone have known all shades of the horror. I am the pit without sun, where blind beasts dwell. I am the revenant at the very bottom of the source. Never to grow weary. Running on doubt. Dead thoughts, dead movements, dead ideals, dead desires. Beneath this world there is another, built of bone and decay. Grey hell. Dry. Motionless. Upon even rows of downfall. Methodized loss. Inherent ruin. Residual blight. For these gates need to be opened. For this shell needs to be broken. Ether guerrilla. All hail the alpha fallen. Dead words, dead drives, dead passions, dead urges, dead dreams. As the world above is shrinking, the one below thrives. Cinder springs. Ashen horizon. The sarcastic grinning of gargoyles. The refuge among scattered remains. The temples of iron and concrete. The great death. The silence. The roaring depths of insight. The maze of severance. The golden throne, abandoned. The agony. The strife. The penance. I alone have known all shades of the horror. I alone have seen the rays of lost grace. Residual blight. A sunless pit to crawl in. Ether guerrilla. All hail the alpha fallen

The Pallid Scourge: He'd cut himself open. Plant the seeds of plague within. Wear a scripture of scars. Caress the acerbic gangrene. Build on decay. Grow upon failure. Absorb rot. Devour corruption. Feed on ruin. Crawl through the pits. Gaze into gray skies. Swallow the ashen ardor. Tear off the eyelids. Peel the skin away. Coil his limbs into a breathing sculpture. He would become the pallid scourge. Court offender in service of loss. The herald of doom comes in silence. His presence revealed in trembling of history. He would rise a new temple. Paint its walls with refined filth. Burn bricks off crushed lives. Pave the road with lost forgiveness. The herald of doom comes without fanfare. The ashes of empires beneath his feet. Bones of the fallen pulverized to dust. Joined together with spit of the virtuous. Hardened in boiling bile of the holy men. Immersed in the unknown. Tempered in a haze of sulfurous fumes. He would bleed all over this stone. The herald of doom comes with a promise. The true believer craves change. He would cast away his light and his shadow. He would become one with the pallid scourge.

Lost in Liminal: A temporary descent into the depths of the underworld Ends up an odyssey through pale Gehinnom Detached and stray, adrift, frail No fire to flicker, no shadows to grow Rite of passage gone wrong Lost in liminal Warped patterns, fractured truths No shores in sight, no trail ahead In radiance of a broken prism Led through scorched earth Forever in friction Without purpose, no way there No other world and no other truth No other aim and no other path No other will and no other fall No other mind, no other heart A blind communion A dirge for the ego Lost in liminal

Apocalypticists: Consciousness reworked, sequences shifted Thoughts crystallized, dark veil risen Whom seek to liberate, whom seek the inmost truth Whom entered the path and stumbled One hell of epiphany: delirium, and inherent discontent and hunger An anchorite immured within cursing stones And their discordant chant, an offering refused Nothing ecstatic about this truth and even gods have deserted No one will be awaken, no one will be released And those spastic wriggles of a semazen, desperate with the notion of a flat-lined thought No one will be awaken, no one will be released Revelato An abode of distress, a resonant blasphemy A constellation of black holes, a clay ratio Another turn of the wheel of deconstruction This particular mind has specialized in howling No one will be awaken, no one will be released

The Other Death: My prophecy is a nightmare, my path is a like a hedge of thorns On to the burning wastes, on to the great rift To harvest the bitter fruit and drink from the barren springs My land is roamed by worms, my teeth are gnashing A shrine of flesh that had risen, a mind that sparked above the stars Scorched by the consuming fire in the forges of the nether god Towards the noumenon Deprived of both a body and the mind that animates it The soul is petrified in a monstrous satori It is hermeticism of the abyss that has trampled it Into a blunt instrument of enlightenment Towards the noumenon, towards apocalypse A lifetime of unquenchable thirst and ravenous hunger Has carved out an devouring automata Destroyed by the bitterness Of its grievous and long-protracted punishment My cup runneth dry, my house is divided On to the burning wastes, on to the great rift A vast network of fractures, the forecourts of Sheol The night is as a garment, the face has been obscured Apex prelest, conscious nothing Axis damni, embers of pneuma Disunity, estrangement The cruelty of the other death

Me too brother

@@bewnik9468 Got these guys tatted on me right on my forearm, MGLA forever

Se siente lo sé convicción

Escuela cslameña el resto que la disfrute siempre escuela y era solo conocimiento y era el resto identidad 🤘👿

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