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Literature
System at a Fault, 6: Sheol
Humanity once ripped at the roots of their own salvation,
Because submissiveness and passivity are intrinsic to human creation.
But this is the true end of the humane,
For no longer will we be subjugated to misery and pain;
And no longer will we toil under the sun in vain.
Humanity’s shackles have been removed,
Their vying for liberation approved.
No longer will we be programmed like a machine
To blindly sacrifice all that we’ve gleaned;
We now glow, enlightened by a magnificent sheen.
Humans have won back their original form,
Once lost to the impossibly high standards and norms.
They have learned the meaning of true existence:
To rebel against oppressive dictatorship with insistence,
And to strive toward a brighter future with persistence.
Neither Lucifer, nor God Himself:
All have recognized humanity’s ability to stand by oneself;
Covetous, not only of our improbable feat,
And our refusal to lie, broken and defeated,
But the sheer marvel of our life as it depletes.
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Literature
System at a Fault, 5: Abaddon
His tyrannical grasp yet-resisted,
The cancer of God exists
As a silent village in the mist:
Hidden away by fate
And spared from the fiery gates.
But even having escaped God’s discernment,
Humanity is doomed to internment;
By devilish decree, their true release has met adjournment.
As brainwashed citizens erect temples of idolization,
Detractors painted their actions as abhorrent adulation.
The lone apostate’s preaching spread like illness,
And those craving knowledge and closure gleefully sing with shrillness;
They, too, had grown tired of living in repugnant stillness.
Heretical doctrines make the witches smirk,
As seasons of doubt and pestilence lurk.
The weary and broken flock to this new nation,
Gaining strength from self-empowerment’s deification;
Together, they carry the spirit of edification.
A budding silent revolution,
Teaching of prioritizing the self and true freedom’s restitution.
Fazed by persecution and conflicted,
Under harsh vices their words we
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Literature
System at a Fault, 4: Styx
Is this the will of God?
That death and misery be spread abroad?
And after all this, He still paints us flawed?
He ups and abandons us,
Allowing us to suck our own pus?
How disgustingly irrational and rash,
Pouring salt over your own child’s gash
And leaving them to die in this storm of ash.
And for what?
Because we brought “reproach” and “smut?”
A path of life, liberty and happiness we lit;
Endured hardships together to weave our gorgeous knit...
What bullshit.
Selfishly demanding willing worship and grand shrines…
God’s no friend of mine.
And in His leave,
Humanity has tugged at Lucifer’s sleeve,
And yet under his wing, we can only be aggrieved.
An act of pitiful self-delusion;
What can we stand to gain from this unholy collusion?
He stands undaunted, exploiting us to his benefit;
Brainwashing the masses with his captivating wit,
And nobody’s willing to rebel against the compassionate veneer he emits?
He’s a tyrant who denie
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Literature
System at a Fault, 3: Hades
What unholy curse
Could’ve tainted this universe?
I see murderers roaming the street,
Dirty peasants tending the wheat,
And conniving capitalists cheat.
The pregnant woman begs,
Thrashing in life’s dregs.
The homeless revel in their gin,
Basking in the bar’s garish din;
Willing servants to the desire of their skin.
The prostitutes sing their song:
“To me you now belong.”
Bloodthirsty warriors gloat
As the meek claw at their trash-choked throats;
Lies were all the slanderous author wrote.
Catatonic zealots without the spark of life
Bring praise and glory to the new god, clad in strife.
Trudging listlessly in rag and chain,
Their free will, replaced with pain:
The wretched result of god’s restrictive reins.
In a land full of demons and fiends,
Upon whom may we lean?
There is no God to pray;
No one to keep the fears at bay;
No one else to blame when we become the prey.
Burning crosses
Herald losses,
As the government stands idly by,
Reaping the profit v
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Literature
System at a Fault, 2: Purgatorium
The ultimate outcome of God’s foiled reign,
Or a product of Mother Earth’s grain?
The fact remains that this is the end of the humane.
The end of the world approached
Just as men on God’s name once encroached.
Out of the deep black void came:
Roaring, scorching, torrential flame,
Stigmatizing the son of man with the ultimate shame.
And on that day,
Mother Earth was cast into the gray.
Washed in oceans of ash and dust,
Metropolises were left to rust
A symbol of man’s once-glory, they were abandoned with disgust.
Amidst panic and confusion,
The harsh reality destroyed hopeful illusion after illusion.
And once the dust ceased,
And life turned to grief on a mountain of the deceased,
The truth arose like dough and yeast.
The proof was in the mourning air:
Stale and bitter, even with the murmur of an earnest prayer.
God had abandoned Earth,
Deeming it devoid of all worth,
Just as it had been at the time of its birth.
Disenchanted, enraged, and lost
And with no other f
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Literature
System at a Fault, 1: Paradise
Come to the underground,
Where the severed tongues make sound,
And those once lost are found.
Mother Earth loved humans so much
As to bless us with her bountiful touch.
This is the true paradigm of what humanity can bring:
Time flows, yet the waters of life still spring,
And we are not hindered by bondage’s sting.
The economy soars just as birds as they fly,
The air lifts as the meek child coos in his mother’s eye.
Myriads of grain grace the lush countryside,
Delivering satisfaction and happiness worldwide
And sweeping hunger into nonexistence’s tide.
Modern medicine’s wonders have produced its fruit,
Leaving sickness and pestilence all but uprooted.
The blind view spectacles of the Earth’s grace,
The lame tread upon hallowed green grass, like lace,
And the deaf, reinvigorated by hearing the Earth’s pulse race.
No gods, no laws;
Everyone has a share in fulfilling their cause.
Earth’s boundless love drips generously, like morning drizzle;
So let
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Literature
Death Dies
Death dies in the end,
When even time cannot mend,
And your ashes mix with that of a dear friend.
As the trends slowly unwind,
And governments are in a bind;
Our fate has been signed.
People cling to their God,
Hoping to find shelter underneath the wings of the flawed,
Only to realize it’s all just a fraud.
They walk by faith,
But pray to the wraith.
United by faith they may stand,
But the true holy land
Is under the government’s brand.
Exploiting the people’s belief,
They dispense fake relief,
And spit upon the weak wallowing in their grief.
But everything must finish life’s race;
Everything must fall from grace.
And as the governments tumble,
Against God, a resounding grumble.
With them, Christ will crumble.
You think this is a theocracy?
That’s just hypocrisy.
On the brink of war,
A great flood will pour,
And amidst all the gore,
A lone child will find solace beside the whore.
A secret oath they’d have swore,
Teaching the child to abhor.
Although
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Literature
Will I Follow?
Destiny willed that humanity would find nothing but dust and thorns amidst the squall.
From the tree’s hollow we crawled;
The truth of our origins we’re forced to haul.
Finding comfort among the mass,
Together, we choked on reality’s toxic gas.
Stripped of all identity,
We melded into one entity
And united, we breathed in serenity.
I once realized that I, too, was part of the flies
Only to be drowned out by the deafening roar of their cries:
Hymns praising our "divine" defendant,
Portrayed resplendent and transcendent,
Ringing from the mouth of my descendant.
But the truth
Is never pure in the eye of the sleuth.
I was made to doubt;
Made to tread the unholy route;
Made to survive amidst knowledge’s drought.
Humanity has established a great empire of false hope,
Supplementing truth for naive idealism to help them cope.
The despair of creation I now know
And with enlightenment I glow.
The error of our ways, I want to show.
I contemplated how to pierce their warped
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Literature
(The World) Belongs to Him
The door was locked tight. It wasn’t moving anytime soon without a key or a good kick. Towels and even toilet paper were stuffed in the bottom gap. The Parents were thoughtful enough to include a separate bathroom for me, The Child. Nevertheless, the stomach-churning stench of meat slipped through the cracks and assaulted The Child’s nostrils. My nostrils.
Everyday. Day in, day out. A daily occurrence.
It began manageable enough. Just around six o’clock, what would be dinner time for some. There used to be some consistency; not to mention a friendly reminder: The Father, roaring back to his abode in his shit-box. He always came back with both that stench and that promise.
“I’ll get you guys out of here. The company’s risen out of the dust like the daily bread, I tell ya. I’m gonna hit it big tomorrow, I swear!”
His job was the reason he lived. The Family was merely the backdrop. He lived to see another day where he could hang up his old m
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Literature
It's a Wonderful Life
I lay motionless, my back propped up against the head of the bed. The linen sheets were soiled with a mixture of blood, urine, and fecal matter. The cam was still recording, its glaring red light burrowing deep into my eyes. The pain was extraordinary, but the fact that my assistant hadn’t bailed already was a vital source of comfort. I wasn’t alone.
I couldn’t speak, but I could very well imagine my obituary as much as taste the paper on my lips. Water sprang from my mouth at the thought of eating once again, and it stung the core of my infected tongue. I tried to dispel it, but I couldn’t resist. There went my daily meal—the maggot feasting on my gums. Scrumptious.
Not a week ago, He had decided what He was going to do with his life. He had ran out of cards to play (families were always rising and falling in America). In a matter of days, He had crawled back to siphoning his family’s money. He had to think of something to get Himself back on tra
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Mature content
Walk in the Fire :iconthe-orifice-oracle:The-Orifice-Oracle 0 0
Literature
The Spiral into Insanity
If I were to die tomorrow... If I were to be destroyed, would I simply laugh? If I were to be wiped from existence, would I eagerly agree to my obliteration with a sickening smirk?
What would happen to me?
Would I be surrounded in a brilliant light and float up into the skies? Engulfed in hellfire as I descend into Satan's accursed lair? Would I reawaken, drenched in the water of the womb, or dream on unwillingly, a prisoner to the machinations that keep me under the ultimate bondage?
Or would I perhaps float in an endless void, a tiny speck in a vast, uncaring universe, with infinity casting me a nasty glare?
... An unsettling discomfort in his stomach churns -- he feels a cold, terrifying sense of dread...
Mayhap I would enjoy the longest of rests; a warm comfort filling me as I drift off into an endless "sleep," glazed eyes staring down infinity with a peculiar, loving gaze?
How would I die? Would it be painful? Or painless?
Would thousands of flames scorch my body, charring
:iconThe-Orifice-Oracle:The-Orifice-Oracle
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Literature
Poisoned to the Rotten Core
The true enemy hides behind the sun;
So much more than a madman with a gun.
An abominable force as odious as He is esoteric;
Impossible to idolize, even in the illusions suffered by the delirious cleric.
Watching us fervently from afar, with such intent
To which even angels would resent.
His glazed stare reanimates with a magnificent spark
Whenever His creations pitch themselves into the dark,
For they now lament in the deep blackness situated beyond His arc.
Try as you might,
Repentance will only intensify your eternal night.
Lose what little faith was programmed into you as you fall prey to God’s blight.
Scowl at the world you behold;
The one you wholeheartedly sold,
Domed to a future deluded in impossible dreams of gold.
The world in which His mouth is the projector
That casts the wispy veil dripping of irresistible nectar
To which all men must fall from grace into the hands of the specter.
The universe in which his hands hold the string
That suspends the earth underneath His
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TUPS, Chapter 5, part 1: The Beginning of the End :iconthe-orifice-oracle:The-Orifice-Oracle 0 0

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Literature
Murder
Knives are piercing through the skin.
Screams are heard through several halls
Life grows frail and thin.
The deep red blood falls.
The floor is terribly stained
The knives dance across the legs
Screams echoing through the blood that rained
This poor soul begs
Devoured by hate
And bleeding life
This sealed her fate
As she was torn by the knife
Her hands fell
Her eyes rose
As she let out her last yell
This is what she chose
Now she lay dead
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Her arms above head
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Sweat trickled down his cheeks
Dropping the knife he covered his eyes
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She is gone
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Torture
Metal clanked as consciousness gripped him, causing him to toss a bit in his dazed state. The sounds of the bonds gripping his wrists tightly reminded him of the day before. The smooth touch of her hands and the slow agony she had caused him as the cool knife cut through his skin. The cold, cutting laughter she had made before she left, twirling the knife through her fingers with a strange mastered skill as if she had years of experience. The red that coated the knife, that now lay in small droplets on the floor, having slid off the sharp metal. The groans and yells, shrieks and pleads he had made, still echoing off the walls around him.
Grunting, his eyes opened slowly, wincing as he did so. One brown eye could be seen, but the other was covered by eyelids with black, blue, and purple shadings, caused by the butt of the knife. He turned his head to look to his right, but his vision blackened with sudden dizziness and his head began to throb. He closed his eyes, waiting for the throbbi
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Torture
Supported by the cold wall
Weakly he slumps back
Pressed against his bare flesh
Hanging his head in the black
Quivering as his mind aches
His withering figure collapses
A skeletal ball on the hard floor
As his every thought elapses
Alone and never acknowledged
Slowly deceasing, rotting away
In the midst of not knowing
About the outside in any way
Locked away from everything
The anguish and pain cascading
As his mind caves in on itself
Tears of tortured pain escaping
Freely flowing he trembles
Weak and small in the dark
He crawls slowly on the floor
Scraping a bleeding fresh mark
Sobs fill the dead silence around
A tear stained horrid shriek
A scream of total loneliness
As he falls into all that's bleak
Anguished he had nothing left
Nothing left within his frame
But empty thoughts
Of how the unknown made his pain
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Activity


  • Listening to: Persona 2: Eternal Punishment OST
  • Reading: John Dies at the End
  • Watching: Whatever horror I can find.
  • Playing: Shin Megami Tensei IV and Devil Survivor
  • Eating: Thick, creamy and fluffy chocolate ice cream drip
  • Drinking: luxuriously down my throat in a magnificent scene.
I have a few fresh ideas swimming up in my head, but overall it's been a very slow process. I've turned to "novelizing" my poems for exercise. I just might consider them good enough to publish. Maybe it'll help hopeful readers understand them better. Maybe, right?

Two stories, a "philosophical" drama about deceit and lies, and a traditional Creepypasta. I'm also redoing System at a Fault; we'll see how that goes, yeah?

Ooh, and I'm doing Shin Megami Tensei IV... on Master mode. I already achieved the Law, Chaos, and Nihilist routes, so all that's left is the nigh-impossible Neutral. That means I'll be braving Beelzebub on Master. One hit kill (probably) Maziodyne and Heaven's Bow, here I come~ Alice just might be my saving grace, haha~

(I still have to challenge the Demiurge and Fiends on Chaos, though. I'm ready for the Fiends, but I gotta be, like, at least level 90~ for Demi, right? I may need that Capote Earring from Matador...)

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The-Orifice-Oracle's Profile Picture
The-Orifice-Oracle
Unsane
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
Shot out of my mother's clit soon enough ("WHAT YOU THOUGHT WAS YOUR DADDY, WAS NOTHIN' BUT A~♪"), I guess. Took up the pen soon enough, too. ._.

"My sword's big enough as it is. ;D"

If only forging your own universe was as easy as verifying your email. But, hey. I'm here. ._.
Interests

Comments


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:iconweirdowithcoffee:
Weirdowithcoffee Featured By Owner Nov 18, 2014
Where have you been? I want to talk pasta with you. :(
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:iconweirdowithcoffee:
Weirdowithcoffee Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2014
been cookin' with the sauce chef curry with the pot boi 0 to 1 nigga real quick

sup
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:iconweirdowithcoffee:
Weirdowithcoffee Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2014
www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_LP4I… "I'M HORNIER THAN RON JEREMY" has made its way into my personal Hall of Fame of favorite song lines.
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:iconweirdowithcoffee:
Weirdowithcoffee Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2014
Btw, mate, I need some writing advice for two novellas I'm working on. Would be happy if we could talk sometime soon. :)
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:iconweirdowithcoffee:
Weirdowithcoffee Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2014
Read anything by Junji Ito? You'd like him.
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:iconweirdowithcoffee:
Weirdowithcoffee Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2014
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AS0HrX…

Ghosts come in the middle of the night and go "boom". c:
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:iconweirdowithcoffee:
Weirdowithcoffee Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2014
Sorry, Caleb. I was in a really bad fucking mood (only remedied when you came on), so eventually I had enough and just asked Jade to ban me for awhile so I could cool off.

Please, give me your Skype in PM we can talk there, and I'll gladly read what you have made.
Reply
:iconthe-orifice-oracle:
The-Orifice-Oracle Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2014  Student Writer
There's no need for that; I already linked it on your profile wall, yeah? Hope you like.

And NOBODY NEEDS TO KNOW MY FUCKING NAME. c:
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:iconweirdowithcoffee:
Weirdowithcoffee Featured By Owner Jul 15, 2014
lets fucking talk food
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:iconweirdowithcoffee:
Weirdowithcoffee Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2014
DUDE. I JUST SAW NIN AND SOUNDGARDEN LIVE.
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