Cells scattered in electronic ghosts of pulse. Dreams of futile flesh. Hindsight’s remembrance of members and bowels. Heroes of hopes broken, throw in the towel. Wisdom and crafts of the pioneers – never lose them in these cold years. Broken, dreamless in frozen worship. Into the necrosphere, beyond the world of waking men. Where horror and moral terror are your friends.

Punctured – by a thousand probing pinheads
Blanketed – by fleshbeds of syringes
Paralyzed – in muffled writhing
Suffocating – frozen in shock
Catatonic coma – a warm, worm harvester
Lucid larvae share in the emptiness of your dreams…
(Infected with billions of eggs…)
Feel them grow and twitch – incubated cyst
Bubbling blisters leak – “I thought I heard one speak…”
Swarmed from head to toe – milky overflow
Pockmarked human husk – a bitter, bleachy musk
Just before you finally fade away into the relief of death
Feel them hatch and squirm
Healthy, strong – you’ve kept them warm…
(Digging from underneath the skin
Translucent teeth resemble tiny fins
Shredding all that’s left from within
“Incubation of a million pins.”)

Hail Satan,

Ritual Grim