A knife dipped in grace.
Cuts all the same.
Hollow men
teaching hollow words.
Bereft of relief
Holy portal to nothing.
Only holding the emptiness at hand.
Bleeding hands unfeeding
Cling to iron nails.
Tension leashed to the jaw
Like a living thing
A flower in a fallow field
Golden against the black
Nothing left to say
A drop of water in
An empty well
A pallid comfort
Death piles up
Lonely, God must be
Lonelier than me
The Alberta crushers hold tight to their rank, astral-gazing grindcore, staring down abyssal torment all the while. Bandcamp Album of the Day Mar 31, 2020