Sleep that falls on the body
The soul flies away, rainbow eagle feathers
Silver moonlight, a bridge to the Sabba
Man in Black on the hilltop, at the foot of the Queen's throne.
The torch is carried high by the light bearer.
It enlightens humanity, reveals the mysteries of the world. Black flames illuminating the intermingled inccubes and succubes. Non-gendered pansexual fantasies to feed the inner power, like collapsing dams. Sweet, unabashed demisexuality.
Lucifer. I become myself. Earrings and carmine night polish. The wielder of the sharp axe is dead. The beast gave up the soul. A thin, sharp blade sank to the hilt between the ribs of the toxic male. The sharp point of intelligence has pierced the sacred texts.
Christ is dead and from his rotting body, like the moult of the reptile, springs his opposite: the Antichrist, the swordsman, the affable civilizer, the artist as portal, the powerful and effeminate wizard. He only wishes the elevation of individuals but his gaze has the hard glare of onyx. He is the proud wolf in sheep's clothing.
And in his eyes shines the brightness of a new world.