Wild Women With Steaknives

I commend myself to a death of no importance

To the amputation of all seeking hands

Pulling, grasping, with the might of nations

Of sirens, in a never ending bloody bliss

To the death of mere savagery

And the birth of pearly, white terror

Wild women with veins slashed and wombs spread

Singing songs of the death instinct

In voices yet unheard

Praising nothing but the promise of death on earth

Laughing seas of grinning red, red eyes

All washed ashore and devoured

By hard and unseeing spiders

I commend myself to a death beyond all hope of

Redemption

Beyond the desire for forgetfulness

Beyond the desire to feel all things at every moment

But to never forget

To kill for the sake of killing

And with a pure and most happy heart

Extoll and redeem disease