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From out the maze the cherub walks hand in hand with God, though serpentine statuesque

Figures stand at every point in every direction, just waiting for their next victims hand or foot

To slip in time with ancient paradigm, past the gate, past the walls, past the tunnels of Set

Abraxas in hand the clock of all and every age carved in wood flips as an hourglass does

Into the night it goes, and into the night he goes, and into the life of not looking back. One

Could only be so lucky to make it through the maze without touching face with entities

Entities whom none so brave could dare step foot or lift hand against, faces so dead barely

Dried from the dripping feast, a feast for every single dying second in the eyes of beasts.

If wrought with steel the mind might make thoroughly sure never to leave the hallways of

Immaculate truth, where would I be without you, lost in the library, lead me to the love letter

Greatness is a mask innocence wears when writing about the non-sense of the ethics of

A glove, none so could wear more a perfect one, for what is a glove if not caressing the

Sacred and ancient textbook of Abramelin, with feather duster, I in cap and gown, and thee

Sacrificial woman, made a date that shall go down in infamy, fire wrought straight from Hell.

Shouting out in Spaniard's tongue, whipping lashes one after another after another, the hit

And smack, the catalyst, The Priest in Priestly attire, on hands and knees, begging the seed

To give into the fire, grow in immensity, little spark, grow in burning lore, and break the shells

The ringing bells, as the fireworks blare oft from the shore, the crashing waves, the summer

Haze is billowing in for more, the rip, the tear, onward into the next dimension. Onward

Onto the feast of all of time, the midnight chime, the way out past the break of breathless

Inhale, and to never breathe again, to fall into the symphony of sin, and never find the door.

To dalliance in the most hideous of dances, to kiss beneath the stars in your eyes, thy neck.

Likened to dreams, there are an infinite ways of explaining one thing, and there are infinite

Things to explain, the waterfalls inside Saturn's Cube are there to remind you, there is none.

None more bitter a woe than love. None more, of an emptiness aligned with thine deep.

Even in my dreams, where anything is possible, I am still not a wealthy man. Yet somehow

That makes all the difference. Yeah, somehow a rich man steals what a wealthy man never

Known history, tree of ancient knowledge and sharing, the pets at the pet store will tell you

They're the ones with the stories see, and she knew how goddamn deep the well does go.

See, the rape in the dream happens, although, because, many variables do exist and just

Because you think God doesn't hate anything, because, man, how could God hate a thing.

There are numberless ways to create enough pain for everyone in the world to suffer. All

At once. The eyes of God never close again, when they do, what this time. Back to Satan.

It was my mind that allowed the world in my mind to collapse. Trust that is light. Trust in

God to enlighten thee, and never punishing. Punishing is a self taught misery. Painful belief.

The cube collapses into a square, by circling the square it disappears, and by doing the

Dance, the dance of all the ages, walking the thin tight rope, a clown, and in his hands

A spear; balancing over the heavenly abyss and lifting foot over foot over the hellish void.

Yet still not making a sound to crack the statuesque figures standing in rounds through the

Desert land, nor lifting a single finger against, nor touching with hand or foot parade, an

Sharpened edge of the sacred sigil written in the sand, round and round the hand and foot

Parade continues on leaving prints, but with feather duster and an honest woman, we could.

O how we could wash them all away, and as quick as a brown fox, Atlantis returns; the water

Seeping in through the vicious space. Will the ship, quacking, hold the immensities weight.

Cracking at all the wrong times, the ship sets sail along the waves vertically the undertow

Lifting the vessel from bottomless seas. If only, about the last time we were here, on the step

Between the show and the meal, the song and the deal, ideally, there must be a catch.

Somewhere along the wall, among this ancient mason's gift giving structured stones, there

Step through the sky, back through the desert for thy wicked fiend's light skip. The space

between the wall and the landscape is a thousand years of self-discovery. I shant dare lead.

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