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Summon And conjure :

A sick wind

brings a hybrid death.

Accompanied by the night,

suffocates my anger.

This is my world,

my existence.

Founded by legions of shadows,

aware of their presence.

In the dark I feed.

I, the Self-created God,

supreme presence,

essential essence.

Where my perispirit,

punishes my semi-physical body.

It strengthens it,

changing into the incorporeal.

It transcends in the tunnels

of an angry death.

From the same darkness,

tentacular mother,

Chaos is born.

Pan-dimensional, timeless.

Everything and nothing at the same time.

One emptiness, one purpose,

raise, primal fear.

Summon and Conjure,

amorphous starving creature.

Your presence, opens my psyche,

flesh my unconscious.

A continuous nascent death.

Where you sense me,

they multiply.

Night after night,

Incubus after succubus.

Interdimensional visions

of dysfunctional symbolisms.

They infiltrate my bones.

Swarms of rising Gods,

black mirrors of my Will.

No one can hear,

the voices of missed torment.

Worlds without light.

Abortions of dead realities,

transmute in me.

Is this the end?

Like a murky wind,

I was revived in the dark.

Designated by the virgins

of the truth.

I open my eyes.

I see this era shattered.

I knew all of this,

was already dead,

before being born.

Carried away by a sick wind.