Basunism

​From the telluric dust shall this ephemeral husk be rendered back, marking a destiny inscrutable, a fatum grimly set. This verity irrefutable, that which is deemed the paragon of breathing, must needs revert to earth's primordial loam. I seal my lids, and lo the mundane sphere doth suffer syncope, a profound, cosmic faint. I lift my brow, and the same weary cycle is re-engendered. From the apotheosis of ruin, the very moment of attrition, we shall attempt an autogenesis profound, becoming our own grim creators. From the plenitude of umbra, the void's abyssal core, a strange, new photic essence—a lie—shall be exhumed. I seal my lids, and lo! the terrene orb doth suffer syncope, a chilling pause! I lift my brow, and the phantasm of existence is re-engendered. Emergent from the cinerous residue, the reliquiae of all things consumed, I vow to haunt this place again. When all existence stands etiolated, withered to a parched stalk, then shall I yield my final zephyr, my breath'...

This vitiated sphere, this terrene orb we tread, w hose purpose is but inanition, whose fatum is fore-ordained. Receive thy apothegm of ruin, thy sorrowful haruspex. ​We lie, a putrescent harvest, face-down in the vile glebe, i ncandescent in a taciturn despair;  In the cold, insalubrious earth did we contend, a  deplorable war of deleterious rage. ​Yet, dream we of a stellar palingenesis, t o scour the maculations of time's preterite scrolls.  When from this spell, this somnolence, we are extricated, t hen shall we rise, unhooded from the sepulchre's deep fastness, a nd abscond, fleeing into the pharynx of the dark chimera. B ehold, the fettered spirit is emancipated. ​From the calcified exuviae of a defunct stellar forge, t o the ebon depths of a heart whose light is extinguished, w e are but atomi united in the dust, in the vast nihility—t he progeny of the abyss, foully engendered; O ur scope is illimitable, our nature aeonian. ​Flawed in the archetype, an immanent fl...

I shall cleave unto this feeling’s quiddity, till the ephemeral spirit doth utterly depart, and my vision, now crepuscular, beholds the world's dissolution. Descend with me into the hinter-night, that we may traverse again the very terminus of the firmament. ​Plunge we shall, until our chronos is wholly spent; let the voracious current of existence subsume us. Hark, these insidious susurrations claw and grate! Thy mind's lucidity, a flickering flame, doth now attenuate; be thou submerged while thou art steeped in this phantasmagoria, and embrace this abyssal caducity—the ransom for releasing thy grip, to effect thy soul's disruption. ​Immersed in the Stygian shadows, where sensation proves a manacle, we catapult down into the everblack's profundity. Dost thou perceive the paresthesia, these spectral formications? A thrall unto feeling, observe the grim discovery of thy fall. ​Thou didst gravitate toward the dark to unloose thy tenure and confront the relentless flux. Ac...

​Hark the lament, a bitter verse, where wrath supplants the pain I seek not to outstrip.  To have met my gaze was a damning lapse, a flaw in the celestial script; d o you strive to nullify the wound? My utterance was but a desperate plea, a  protest against your callousness, your profound dearth of clemency.  I mirror the lesson you imparted: to air the soul’s fierce decree. ​ ​Dare you invoke the specter of Demise? Your scar, a mirror's shard, a trophy of vanity's end.  Silence your narrative of a former flame’s calamity; for I possess a tale untold o f a personal death-knell borne of my own unyielding fealty.  Fidelity, a concept you deemed expendable, was never sufficient for your spirit’s dearth.  I have known a hundred slaughters, the ghost of bruises fading from the cervix’s curve.  Not a gastric affliction, but your own reckless hand dealt the mortal blow.  You sought my solace while contracted elsewhere; was this the allegiance you claimed...

​Dearest paramour, I wish you a state of grace; I jest, this is assuredly gehenna. I encountered a solitary incomer with a tincturing tool in hand; his fate was sealed, for I was unseen in my furtive approach. ​Tonight, utter valediction to your former gnosis. The ensuing sanguine flow shall be imputed to your account, and as I close my orbiculars, grant me one more osculation before my everlasting wakefulness. ​Apotheosis will presently be my vantage. ​I remain two gambits ahead of your planning. You are merely a pedestrian piece. Execute your castling, yet my shadow looms behind your monarch. As your matriarch lies exsanguinated upon the chessboard, accept your capitulation, you wholly misjudged your antagonist. ​The narratives are self-inscribing. The author has transgressed the proscenium once more, neglecting to etch the finale. Propel yourself toward the solar zenith, observing which soul comes undone. The she-villain, the fractured nuptial figure, we sit and witness the confluen...

Reiterate your mandate Reiterate your initial charge Bow in obeisance before the malefic effigy Splay your femurs Clench your mouth's edge Meet his pupil. ​Dripping, erect, staring a vision of madness Quivering, the trophy is secured Yet shun my deceitful artifice ​Decline to yield; entice his nearness Beguile his hand's journey Steal his respiration, finish the exchange Wheezing, covetous, feeble, frigid—the victory is yours Should you dare pierce the hidden shroud Expect my specter to be an undeniable resident ​My soul is a vessel of iniquity A product of the malign blight I possess a deep fondness for the torment The sinful deed is a fleeting bliss, my youngling ​I engage in levity with utter derangement My path is unyielding A slave to my perverse inclination ​Expunge the memory of his daemon-form A monster who devised the core anxiety Expunge his true character A brute who revels in the dread ​Mute your lips as the perspiration streams Never forget his dark identity Your s...

I mourn the oblivion of stella counting And the dulcet memory of your osculum I yearn for the reprise of your tactile grace And the appellation of being your demesne You apprehend my true visage I crave no terpsichorean partner beneath the lunar glow I supplicate for an ingress back ​I suffer consternation; the voracious hiatus Threatens to utterly engorge my essence This is my candent confiteor I am no paladin, nor a hallowed exemplar The world's salvation is beyond my purview I never solicited this imposition ​Your eyes hold the silent interrogatories For which my soul harbors no rejoinder Let misprision and cynicism now burgeon You deemed me immaculate, a vessel of deliverance But should the suspicion arise that I was self-preserving Recall this monition: I am inherently perilous ​Perhaps my veracity is a specious pretense A siren veiled in gossamer finery Perhaps I merely peddle a canard A malefactor in masquerade I am paralyzed by the phantasm of the swallowing inane. This is ...

 Behold your accolade, the very paragon of your soul's desire: a telluric promontory of sheer ordure, its atmosphere thick with the stentorian threnodies of the defunct. I am utterly convinced this geography will prove wholly congenial to your spirit. ​The chronometer is abruptly arrested, and I find myself marooned once more in non-location, a state of utter perplexion. Why this interruption? The situation is, quite frankly, past the point of deterioration, and my current predicament seems preferable to solipsistic existence. ​Approach, everyone, and attend! I shall be your convivial guide this vespertine hour. Salutations to the nocturnal phantasmagoria, the oneiroscopy of the abyss—a truly turbulent peregrination awaits. ​It is incongruous, yet I feel a sense of profound belonging here, a strange aversion to emigration. Am I afflicted by a bêtise, a folie, to covet this asylum? Does my essence truly belong to a different aera or topos? No matter; this demesne will suffice. ​You ...

 My pneumatic distress signals the imminent cessation of my mortal coil, a precipitous downfall into the permanent oblivion. A frantic trepidation is kindled by the sight of your phantasmal form, an impassive sentinel beyond a crystalline barrier. ​You stand so far removed, as the cosmic order—the very understanding of firmaments—suffers a catastrophic epitasis, reversing its perpetual flow into a backward-coursing fluvial surge. When did my cardiac thrum transmute into a reverberating phantom? Why do my cerebral functions atrophy—a spiraling, shredding, exsanguinating dissolution? ​A final valediction, a concluding, feverish osculation; a plea from raw cupidity to avert the inevitable. I drag you to me in a paroxysm of pavor, a desperate gauge of your tangibility. Lo and behold! It was a mere oneiric deception, a gossamer chimera. ​This interminable gyre, a Möbius coil of relentless complexity, offers neither absolution nor egress. Yet, your ocular scrutiny is a vitriolic brand up...

My spirit, slow to mend, chases the mind's escape After the blinding crash. Now, open the eye and gape; Witness the shocking wonder, a truth too grand to hold. Have I fractured self? Is my living essence sold? A dissonant chord rings out: This cannot be quite right. Am I ensnared by slumber, or bathed in awful light? I lie a desperate truth: I am well. I am fine. Answer me, Self! Rise up, cross the perilous line! ​We are the foolish chosen, designed to awe the wise, The weak-willed instrument that shames the strong man's eyes. Let hope grasp everything, for Nothing is Impossible. To see the truth, you don't need logic, neat and stable; You only need the faith to trust the Unbelievable. My Shadow seeks deep cover, where the solar light cries out; Return, my bitter tears! Resolve this gnawing doubt! Tell me what you are! Why has feeling been suppressed? I cannot stay, I must go, yet hold you to my breast. I vow I won't let go, though I know I shall remain A terrified, clu...

Hath this locus been tread before?Does my intellect embark on dissolution? Behold my visage; ascribe me to the lunatic fringe. Attend my passage, and witness the illusion's dissolution. Clasp my extremity, or doth mistrust prevail? We dwell in imminent peril. The culpability rests upon my spirit. At the verge of Man's ratiocination, Schemata of extra-dimensional flight reside, A deliberate secession from the mundane. The tesseract—a geometric siren—cajoles my essence! I shall usurp the cosmic filaments! Frustration doth greet its kindred failure; Iterate the endeavor! Recur the striving! Yet, her phantom summons persists. May I draw you nearer, and submerge within your phantasms? I avow that reveries transcend mere articulation; Dreams we have entombed while yet animate. The nightmare acquires tangibility. Still do I supplicate and importune for augmentation! My optic orbs shall remain perpetually unsutured! Indissolubly wedded to the nocturnal expanse! ​Hush now, thou tender i...

We are interred and dispossessed with visages etched by lassitude; a relic zeal has found its sepulcher. We resuscitate devoid of beatitude, for our collective reminiscences are now putrefying alongside the cadavers of our chronicle. We remain marooned in the penumbra, emitting a vociferous clamor for succor, a desperate counter-attack. Do you surmise that redemption by combat is a conceivable possibility? Shall we waltz upon the pinions of expectation, jointly traversing the aether? This existence is not our raison d'être; I shall reappropriate our dominion. ​Oh, divinity, enunciate it with unwavering conviction; there is no leisure for repose, for slumber seduces only the infirm. My beloved, I implore your comprehension and auditory attention: this is delirium, this cannot be the denouement. My soul is unprepared for the valediction. Should you abscond, should we attempt to consummate our inception, I harbor trepidation regarding your retrieval. Therefore, imprint a kiss before y...

Have you ever apprehended your own semblance outside the mediation of a looking glass? My sincere amatory devotion is my benison to you, a ticket to transgress the cosmic fissures. ​We are ensnared within a demented visionary’s phantasm, one who, in his unwitting ignorance, manifested his subconsciousness into corporeal reality. Reflect: had he but witnessed the sheer splendorous furor, perhaps he would have abstained from staining the parchment with his sepia vitae, this artisan wholly consumed by the cerebral realm, a landscape rife with sadistic deceptions and frenzied lamentations. ​Our existence is a domain of callous indifference and frigid emptiness, utterly derelict and adrift. I vow to effuse my vital fluid for your sake, to reconfigure its intrinsic nature; I shall embrace demise to secure our collective salvation. This juncture presents our singular vatic opportunity, our ultimate speranza. Immersed in your fervent zeal and an inexhaustible gravitation, I am eternally yours....

Fethema Gruzalcka, a chimeric existence sculpted from absolute void yet paradoxically defined by resplendent grace and protracted sufferance is narratively tormented. Her desolate soteriology yields a profound lack of resolution. She is eternally bequeathed to perpetual struggle and an ontological malediction: to embody a dualistic synthesis. A cacophony of ebony echoes simultaneously obfuscates all audible stillness upon her wretched advent. She is expectorated onto the contorted terra firma, utterly isolated, a scarlet fiend perpetually denied both mortality and vital experience, yet condemned to an eternal respiratory cycle. Driven by a profound epistemic yearning and famished for telic clarity, she finds the heavens remain hermetically sealed, portending a grim, unpromising terminus. ​A lamentable cantilena momentarily illuminates a vestige of misplaced affection—a hushed ailment, a fleeting vulnerability. This sudden epiphany merely precipitates her existential disorientation. Whe...

Execute the sentence. Bind these unworthy hands to the coarse wood; this is my altar of deserved agony. There is no celestial compass, no cosmic geography, only the internal, suffocating theater where the fires of hell and the vacant silence of heaven eternally conflict. I am the exiled shadow, cast out by my own moral gravity. ​ I am not merely an ocean; I am the abyssal heart of the sea itself. A black, churning void where a sunken world of despair perpetually drowns. There is no chart, no canon of rules, strong enough to salvage this wreckage; I am the terminal loss. All that remains is the ghost of a former self, a waterlogged coffin ship adrift in the deep. We did not just watch the end; we became the wave that consumed it. ​ I have not just witnessed hell; I am its cartographer, an unwilling resident of its volcanic core. Heaven? It exists only as a myth whispered to keep the sane from screaming, a secret I guard with a zealous, bitter despair. ​ Turn back, let the breath fail. T...

​ My genesis was steeped in the Stygian valley—a landscape where shadows are sentient and death is the common currency. I clawed my way into the light, but the price was paid in grafts of scar tissue over a soul that refuses to forget. I watched the muted son—an invisible cipher, burdened with ghosts and a brother's anchor. He was an empty chalice until a piece of him simply unmade itself. The forest floor, a silent witness, drank the crimson sacrament as the scythe of the unseen enacted its grotesque baptism. His final impression was pressed into the dirt—a mask of earth. Does this profound, collective apathy truly offer the good man a dark conversion, a surrender to the void? ​ My personal pandemonium is a ceaseless, internal war. But the demons have won the siege, leaving me a petrified sentinel in the face of my own judgment. They are not merely memories; they are nocturnal specters—cold, grasping fingers that climb from the bedsheets to claim the breath I forfeited with my pas...