Dragged against a wooden floor
A splinter followed grain
I felt the pinch as I was pulled
Across the cherry stain
It found itself beneath my nail
But I did not cry in pain
My eyes were fixed upon a figure
Slightly out of frame
You are one of God's mistakes,
You crying, tragic waste of skin,
I'm well aware of how it aches,
And you still won't let me in.
I WISH I COULD STOP
LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER
BUT SOMETHING
IS OUT TO GET ME
I KNOW WHAT I’VE DONE
AND IT’S CRAWLING TO ME
I CAN’T SEE IT
BUT I FEEL IT
THIS ISN’T ME!
I JUST CAN’T TAKE
THIS MASK OFF
FOR SOME REASON!
I SWEAR NORMALLY
I DON’T LOOK LIKE THIS!
STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT
IT ISN’T WHAT YOU THINK
YOU THINK YOU’RE SLICK
OIL BENEATH OUR PALMS
BUT I KNOW WHAT YOU DID
GUTLESS DOG
BLOATED WITH MALICE
AND SICK WITH VIGOR
I WILL WAIT FOR MY CHANCE
TO DRAG YOU OVER KNIVES
I DON’T CHEW
I SWALLOW IT WHOLE
I DON’T TASTE
I CHOKE
I HAVEN’T HAD ENOUGH
AND I JUST WANT MORE
EVEN IF MY FLESH SWELLS
EVEN IF MY STOMACH BURSTS
A CURSE WAS NOT ENOUGH
BUT SOMETHING BETTER IS COMING
FOR EVERY PIG
EATING UNTIL GORGED
EVERY RAT
AVERTING THEIR EYES
AND EVERY APE
JUST DOING THEIR JOB
YOU’RE NEXT
IT WILL CATCH UP TO YOU
THE TERROR OF REVELATION
NOTICING THE PAIN
UNDERSTANDING HOW LITTLE
IS LEFT IN THE CUP
MY BLOOD HARDENS
HEAVY IN MY OWN SKIN
THERE ARE CROWS CALLING MY NAME
THERE IS A HOLE I SEE MYSELF IN
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [FAILURE]: "I want to have fuck with you"
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YOU DIDN’T WAKE UP
HUNGRY ENOUGH
AND WHILE YOU SLEPT
I KICKED IN YOUR DOOR
AND I ATE YOUR FILL
AND MY SIDES ACHE WITH GLEE
AS I WATCH YOU STARVE
BENEATH MY BLOATED BELLY
A body that does not rest, does not resolve, and does not find closure. There is no defined beginning or end: only extensions, perforations, and bindings that maintain the form in an artificial equilibrium, sustained by extreme tension.
The biological material is shamelessly exposed. Bones, translucent tissues, and organic masses coexist with wires, metallic ligaments, and containment elements, suggesting a process of forced manipulation of life. Nothing here seems natural or spontaneous; each curve has been bent, each extension stretched beyond its functional limit. The form does not grow: it is forced to exist.
The wires that traverse the composition function as vectors of control and structural torture. They not only support the object but violate it, determining its posture, its direction, and its impossibility of collapse. The suspension transforms the body into an instrument, into a permanent experiment, into something that remains active even after the failure of its integrity.
Conceptually, the image discusses the exploitation of the body as raw material, the boundary between preservation and violence, and the human obsession with extending life, function, or utility at any cost. It depicts an organism that should have already ceased to exist, but is kept operational by external systems that ignore pain, ethics, or purpose.
The resulting aesthetic is visceral and ritualistic an altar of tense flesh and exposed bones, where technology and biology do not merge in harmony, but in eternal conflict. The horror does not come from the grotesque itself, but from the clarity with which the work states: this body has no choice.
WHAT WILL YOU DO
WHEN HELL COMES HOME?
WILL YOU DRINK SPILLED BLOOD
WHEN THE WATER RUNS DRY?
WHEN FIRE MELTS WHO YOU LOVE
WILL YOU WARM YOURSELF BY IT?
WHEN IT’S YOUR TURN TO SUFFER
WHAT WILL YOU DO?
FULL CIRCLE
I AM FINALLY BACK
AND I OUTLIVED
YOUR SUNLIGHT
I FEEL NO SATISFACTION
I FEEL NOTHING EXCEPT
THE TOTAL DARKNESS
OF OUR CROSSING PATH
THE WOUND REMAINS
FROM WHAT YOU DID
WAS YOUR SECRET TOO MUCH?
DID YOUR GUILT PUNISH YOUR CHILD?
WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING
I WANT TO KNOW
WHO DO I HAVE TO MAIM
TO GET AN ANSWER?
YOU’RE GETTING OLD
MAYBE I’LL HURT YOU NEXT
I WAS YOUR FIRST VICTIM
MAYBE YOU WILL BE MY LAST
керо9керо ещё раз поздравляет вас всех с новым годом няшки удачи в новом году
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Всех с рoждecтвoм cвятoгo пpopoкa Иoaннa Пpeдтeчи, Кpecтитeля Господня!!
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