lonely – ImpChimp Art

Your hate is hollow, it breeds nothing, it festers and rots. It does not build, it does not heal, it does not matter. Love demands more than your narrow sight, it demands you bleed with the mother’s grief, choke with the addict’s hunger, hear the child’s muffled cries in a house that hates its ownContinue reading

Book II – The Labors and the Garden

The Making of the Seventy-Two And Yzotl, weary of ruin and ashes, sought to fashion a creation unstained by decay. He desired forms so flawless that none could deny his mastery, even should the world itself rot beneath his hand. Thus he wrought the Seventy-Two, shaping them from the marrow of mountains, polishing them withContinue reading “Book II – The Labors and the Garden”

Book I – The throne of blood

In the first days, when the sky wept ash and the mountains groaned beneath the weight of sorrow, Yzotl rose from the womb of shadow. His hands were forged of iron, his heart hardened into stone, and no warmth of love nor spark of pity dwelt within him. Where he walked, silence followed, for evenContinue reading “Book I – The throne of blood”

The First Sermon of the Torturer’s Shadow

Hear me, you blind!Hear me, you deaf of soul!Before the thrones of your pitiful gods were set in gold,there was the black age,an age of rot,an age of beasts born to suffer! Abominations, crawling in the bowels of the world!Mouths without mercy!Eyes that never closed!And over thema crown of knives!Yzotl! The Torturer! Every breath beneathContinue reading “The First Sermon of the Torturer’s Shadow”

Before you brave the lands now cursed by ruin and time,Before sword leaves sheath and spells break silence,You must first hear the truth that turned a man into a godless shadow. He was once Azapar; High Arcanist of the Ivory Conclave.A man born of flame and vision,Whose heart pulsed not for conquest…But for her. ButContinue reading

The Want That Weeps

I dreamed of dusk that never turned to night,Nor morning broke with gentle, warming light.A place between; not heaven, not below,Where titans bleed and winds refuse to blow. The sky, a vault of copper, smoke, and flame,Did cough and groan but never call a name.Engines screamed like orphans left unheard,Grinding metal drowned each pleading word.Continue reading “The Want That Weeps”

Stories from my lonely forest: 12 hungry children

This is an entry from an unfinished, semi-released book of grimm themed poems 12 hungry children sit a table a sorrowing feast spun straight from a fable The pitiful spread of bark and berries the oldest remarks while picking at scabies “We’re starving Pa!”, still chewing galangal, “how can we survive with nothing but bramble!”“Worry not my boy”Continue reading “Stories from my lonely forest: 12 hungry children”