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Autoapotheosis (Aeveron)

"But see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes! – It writhes! – with mortal pangs The mimes become it's food, And seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. Out – out are the lights – out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, While the angels all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy "Man," And it's hero the Conqueror Worm." * Time and space run through my astral veins. Stars obey my orders. Planets circulate me in neverending concentric rings. I am the center of the universe. I am COSMOS!