Fugu Bsiru from Adharcáil by Adharcáil

Slick, oily hair
Matted, covering sores
Worms, slither inside
Hungry, barely alive
Teeth, swollen, infected
Ears, insects in all sections
Pus, gushing your eyes
Like an infant, mimicking cries
Soiled, stinking and ripe
Coiled, taking shape in the night
(Night?)
Overseeing the open and expansive ether of another realm
Pissing where I wish to stake my claim
Even though my neck aches to crane
I smell them all in the folds and tall grass below, so cold
Awake, abreast and alone
I watch for hours, mind and body prone to dispense the meat
Still moving but dead
In essence Im a creature

A simple misplaced beast
A God from different times who once had sacrificial feasts
In my glory, for my honor
Now reduced to wild squalor
It’s a wonder I don’t grow to twice my size and unfurl horrors

• COLIN MARSTON
• Metal
• andrew hawkins
• death metal
• doom metal
• United States