Dereality by fiendan

from eve to eve, on a forever day one, throughout the forever spring, it is by the mangled hands of a feral bastard that the purgatory stands out in the nil of the longest south

evershifting between the wet market at dawn and the santa fideline graveyard at dusk, the day is for the mangling of fish and the night is for the mangling of greasers

glory be to carcosa, murders of these lust striken troglodytic balbals caw from deep in the crop, from the last pulse of the eventide and all through the furious night

risen from the grease and shred, in the carcass of a schized out smeg, heroine of his story, the wet market minstrel, the sentinel up at santa fideline, the yellow king in the forever fields, nagaalinlangan scared of all and everything

dogged out and slummed out, with a postpartum hope, half-life and at most just mediocre, a forever slave to the yellow thank you bag, for it scatters away the shit-weasels and the centipedes that fest in his psyche

a none but ooze of penetralia, bearer of an inborn shame, the purgatory keeper is not to blame, still he must maim a way within himself, rewire until there is none primordial left

and then and only then, he will be reliable, and then and only then, he will honor Them and himself

sulitin, V8

slummed out dog

🇵🇭

wet market minstrel

YouTube
SoundCloud
Instagram
Twitter