Blood and Steel Brotherhood

I think it would’ve helped if someone told me that blood and steel is all you have left.

Get to sink into workout, and how the physical pain blocks out spiritual decay and mental anguish — to be at once slung onto the conveyor belt of some material worship even if it’s not worship, it’s a disguised relief. And it’s not like when you reach the top one could find anything fun about it. You wouldn’t, would you?

Climbing while the sandspurs funnel down, so I am waiting to destroy everything. Whatever is waiting within this abyssal tunnel shaft I will tear apart, and maybe if I do I can finally be released. You win either way: devour or be devoured, consume a void to become one. Find some parallel unease in Lucifer’s prideful fall. Feel the Faustian inclination regardless.

Walking along a deserted plane so in blood and steel I’ll coagulate a mound and sacrifice each day of idle daydreams long infested. Of each saunter through a metal twisting upward, in a rusted haze, so I will gut everything that could comfort. There is nothing but blood and steel.

In our constant weight of flesh, why must I be perverted with this idea of a soul? As if you could think enough and see something out of heaven.

It’s a strange blessing, if you can see it.