A preservation of the self

Misery's greatest voyeur ogling something,
Can't see beyond the curtain of vapour
And the field of black flames.
Revelling in the sorrow of fools,
A lame traveller trudges along.
A crooked cane, and a rotten smell of pain
Emanating from the torn sack on my back.
Hiding behind the yellowing teeth,
and a vile tongue that spits venom
is the greatest mind man has never known,
and also the ugliest.

Morons! You know not that you are mocked,
THat with every word, a death knell rings.
Somewhere, an infant dies,
and its hollow sockets lament the eye
that used to dwell there.
A soul is missing, perhaps it was devoured
by the countless demons residing within.
In love with the sickly sweet smell of fear
wishing it was all pervading
Covering every last speck of dust
Bloodied and molested beyond repair.

Beauty is but a concept,
formless, to be mangled at will.
Every pretty sight must be twisted
and terror must rain down every moment.
The weary must toil,
for only then will the dead sing,
and in that song make a festival-
of gore, of rotting chunks of flesh,
and devour the living.