Echo's N MelanKholyia N-MelanKholyia 013 Cvlt13

Echo's N MelanKholyia MelanKholyia

BoRdeRliNe DiSsoCiAtiVe Identities -13 013 7H0PeRsoNAlitaY DiSoRdeR

Traumas A Storm

A Trauma Story

Traumacore

My Beloved Black Moth #3

My Beloved Black Moth #2

My Beloved Black Moth #1

Traumacore Art Extreme

Visual Audio Trauma Art Therapy Traumacore Music Art Therapy

A place where light can hide, intrusive thoughts of suicide and a deep love  

The soul that was ripped apart, I hold in this vessel dreaming,

 For all my Scars and burns that run deep over my veins I must confide,

So my sights so empty I can only feel of moments that breathe, 

 So the edge of this knife, 

Cuts out the parts of the damage I hold, I pray to god they die with me,

Which I can not find relief, from the nightmares that rape my mind,

 Hollowing out myself, 

Just to walk among the living,

Disconnected, shapeshifting, wearing a mask of many smiles with blacked marble gloss eyes,

But underneath that mask 
Drowning in the mist of desire, 

Seeping in the blood of forever,

Standing to the angels of devour,

Bleed to sacrifice the inner child,

To awaken the monster of power,

Bred within the indulgence of a poppy flower,

I see the needle prick, bruises in the strawberry garden,

Resting in the hands of God's the goddess of sleep consumes the angels  of monsters,

Lost in a river of reflection so death strays to break its wings to relieve the trauma,

Bombs of memories fill my head, 

Flashes of pain scars my mind ,

a sadness blended with madness , forgotten to the times of endless existence,

So I remind myself I am alive in the fields of transcendental resistance,

To walking away to rise above the land of the living to run in the fires of hell,

It flows through my blood, 

Swimming in lost memories,

Shocked to the system my soul replaced with a gem of the divine,

So bored to the reality of the basic tastes of the senses of the reanimated, brings my senses passed the land of the living, breathing, Standing up to the demons of earth

Spiting in the face of the devil as the poppy flowers dance around me 

Drowning me in the bliss of the dawn of morning, eyes opening to the lies of the wicked to leek out the influence of the liquid death
Is the mask of the dead child , 

Now the man transformed into the chameleon  of flowers to the beholder,

  The child that was once my inner self ,  

That's been lobotomized, from the hands of the adversaries, 

For every time you screamed at me, for every time you beat me,

To the false feeling of love being used when you got to close to me,

Just to be ripped away by the infidelity but thankful you where destroyed ,  

 For I lived through a waking hell, 

From being tortured continually abandoned looking for love in the abusive void, 

Used sexually like a doll in a barless cage,

 A torment enduring the shame of feeling anything at all

The shame of having emotions,

 That bleed all over the floor, from the loss of my innocents,

Cradled deep below inside the dawn of my memory ,

I find myself crying to the sounds of the breaking morning,

As sleep is the enemy I must reflect on this,

Shattered like a church window,

The glass that is as stained as my soul 

Fractured but not lost forever

I one day will be whole  

Even if the pieces don't fit perfectly,   



October 27, 2025 at 11:57 PM


GiVe Me DrUgS #3

A place where light can hide, intrusive thoughts of suicide and a deep love  

The soul that was ripped apart, I hold in this vessel dreaming,

 For all my Scars and burns that run deep over my veins I must confide,

So my sights so empty I can only feel of moments that breathe, 

 So the edge of this knife, 

Cuts out the parts of the damage I hold, I pray to god they die with me,

Which I can not find relief, from the nightmares that rape my mind,

 Hollowing out myself, 

Just to walk among the living,

Disconnected, shapeshifting, wearing a mask of many smiles with blacked marble gloss eyes,

But underneath that mask 
Drowning in the mist of desire, 

Seeping in the blood of forever,

Standing to the angels of devour,

Bleed to sacrifice the inner child,

To awaken the monster of power,

Bred within the indulgence of a poppy flower,

I see the needle prick, bruises in the strawberry garden,

Resting in the hands of God's the goddess of sleep consumes the angels  of monsters,

Lost in a river of reflection so death strays to break its wings to relieve the trauma,

Bombs of memories fill my head, 

Flashes of pain scars my mind ,

a sadness blended with madness , forgotten to the times of endless existence,

So I remind myself I am alive in the fields of transcendental resistance,

To walking away to rise above the land of the living to run in the fires of hell,

It flows through my blood, 

Swimming in lost memories,

Shocked to the system my soul replaced with a gem of the divine,

So bored to the reality of the basic tastes of the senses of the reanimated, brings my senses passed the land of the living, breathing, Standing up to the demons of earth

Spiting in the face of the devil as the poppy flowers dance around me 

Drowning me in the bliss of the dawn of morning, eyes opening to the lies of the wicked to leek out the influence of the liquid death
Is the mask of the dead child , 

Now the man transformed into the chameleon  of flowers to the beholder,

  The child that was once my inner self ,  

That's been lobotomized, from the hands of the adversaries, 

For every time you screamed at me, for every time you beat me,

To the false feeling of love being used when you got to close to me,

Just to be ripped away by the infidelity but thankful you where destroyed ,  

 For I lived through a waking hell, 

From being tortured continually abandoned looking for love in the abusive void, 

Used sexually like a doll in a barless cage,

 A torment enduring the shame of feeling anything at all

The shame of having emotions,

 That bleed all over the floor, from the loss of my innocents,

Cradled deep below inside the dawn of my memory ,

I find myself crying to the sounds of the breaking morning,

As sleep is the enemy I must reflect on this,

Shattered like a church window,

The glass that is as stained as my soul 

Fractured but not lost forever

I one day will be whole  

Even if the pieces don't fit perfectly,   


SuiCidAl PoPpy #02

Ether or Aether,

Terrestrial sphere's stars and DNA, 

Self for the spirit,

Light reflects Gravity,

Blood becomes dreams,

A quantum reality,

For Hz is to earths vibrations,

Fire to thoughts Transends memories,

As wind becomes emotions

Under water the subconsciousness within,

Tears of sanity are the blessing of reality,

Shadows play in courts of the priests and masters,

REM I am forever transformed to Mercury like atoms reform,

To the molecule of salt becomes the statue of being,

Transcendent consciousness  bleeds on the fabric of times,

Unlocked the full potential knowledge floods the mental 

I feel the information consuming me internally  

Forgotten words and spells of eternity casts flowers in the dirt of my mind,

Dream walking, 

Nightmare stalking

This is only to the choice of blending 

What you believe is the definition ,

No sides to take,

It is both and everything to be die and recreate life in the membrane of light,

Magnetic fields aura colors sparks the glow of life,

Astral travel world strange but beautiful in the ugly or purity of the reflecting midnight sky ,

Divine Consciousness lost to all but one true being aware to the false reality,

Where  the others of life lies until the birth of the death cradled the tears of memory,

The absolute,

Reincarnation of the mind,

Observation is all that is,

A superposition,

Quantum Mechanics,

Rebirth in the frequency of light,

Entanglement of thoughts and emotions 

Words are nothing here in this form of visions,

Intellect advanced,

Ego is dead,

But the light is the life you move weightless no more information that could be fed,

Pain,

Pleasure,

Desire,

Passion,

The form of inspiration lives inside below the mind,

Sex transfers energy between living gods,

Vital functions evaporate to the romance of thoughts,

Substance the key to traveling in the depths,

Substances are the key to enlightenment ,

When mediation is required to look inside,

Salvia my goddess of the divine devours the mortal coil of seeking the holy hour,

Completely,

Black,

To white,

To color again,

I am the real you,

For the tides are in everyone seeking past the lands of dreams,




QuANtuM ReAlity SalViA DiViNoRuM

EgO DeAtH - EvoCatioN  InVoKe N MelanKholyia MagiK ThE EgO iS DeAd #000

nightmare Wonderland  infest pollute Heavy Dubstep 3d Audio  Industrial pop fused dark trance addictive, merge darkwave hip hop feel in sexual infused glitchcore, nu metal beautiful but death march Vocals seductively blended with horror with Lovecraftian and futuristic cyber matrix realities ripping atomic fusions, Addictive that explodes consumes
A massive, apocalyptic fusion of Dubstep, darkwave hip hop, glitchcore, pop trance, and nu metal, Crushing sub-bass and down tuned guitars pulse against brutal industrial percussion, layered with distorted glitches and trance synths, Seductive, androgynous vocals weave through static loops and whispered breaths, Intense drops, reversed FX, and warping reverb induce a breathless trance, while alien ambiance and glitchy death march rhythms spiral into an unresolved, otherworldly void, Intimately seductive blend Alien tech seductively blending terror, cosmic horror  sex, melting realities Soundscapes

Every wound is scarification within, 

Blind to sight,

Exposing the nerves as salt sleeps across the sores that bare the weight of the memory of pain,

Emotional Torment,

Rages like a tempest,

Forever lasting till the grave,

So is mood no Identity I can't keep it I walk away,

Finding myself in a room of mirrors,

Reflecting the parts of me,

Fragmented faces whisper tears to shine speak the last words of desire and suffering,

In the light of self thats missing a mouth,

One turns to four 

Host, 

To protector,

To destroyer,

Last The child,

Like a dagger splitting my mind in quatres,

But breaking the ties of thought and emotion 

In two that are destructive,

To infatuation a wild soul,

Love to self destruction, 

Stories untold, 

Slipping secrets to the world, 

One line at a time ,

My art of the mystery of what no one can see,

Trapped,

But I see the window the sun I might recover,

So in this winding road of words a hyperactive release of pain and agony,

I let the secrets breath to be seen,

In coded art of emotional thoughts I burn the symbols of communication 

To speak what I could never,

I want to be free,

I'm seeking peace,

But the sea of the world will soon over flood,

Running out in a disparate flash,

Please take these words to heart,

Their perfect but a broken part of me,

I want to speak,

I hope, 

It will be a good read,

I coil codes of memories that bleed into memory,

The blood of pure detached suffering,

RooM Of MirroRs #013

EcHoS N MelaNKholyiA : A Sonic Odyssey of Fragmented Souls
In the shadowed corners of Goshen, Indiana, Echo's N MelanKholyia emerges as a groundbreaking experimental music project, a testament to the transformative power of art in the face of inner chaos. Founded in 2025 by the visionary artist Nexus Khimera—known also as Echos, Mothyii, Alice, Helix, 5, Nexus Etheric  , Odium  or Void—this endeavor is an AI-assisted alchemical fusion of raw emotion and sonic innovation. At 38 years old, Khimera channels a lifetime of introspection, beginning from therapeutic explorations at age 15, into a tapestry of sound that defies categorization. The project's name, with its deliberate misspelling, evokes distorted echoes of melancholy—fragments of pain rebounding through an eternal void, mirroring the fragmented realities Khimera weaves into every composition.
Khimera serves as the sole architect of Echo's N MelanKholyia, handling vocals, lyrics, production, and visual aesthetics with a chameleon-like versatility. Drawing from a deeply personal narrative of psychological navigation, the music acts as a manifesto for survival, blending co-conscious identity shifts and emotional rebirth. The band's conceptual "members"—envisioned as alters in a dissociative system—include Helix as the resilient core, Alice as the protective guardian embodying transgender identity and safety, Odium as the unflinching confrontor of hate and vacuum, Five as the frozen residue of past emptiness, and Suicide Gene as the unnamed pull toward nothingness, symbolizing unyielding survival code. These personas "speak" through layered vocals, reversed whispers, and glitchy confessions, creating a dialogue that invites listeners to confront their own shadows without judgment.
Musically, Echo's N MelanKholyia is a hypnotic storm of genres: traumacore's dissonant catharsis meets industrial gothcore's mechanical fury, nu metal's rap-growl aggression, post-darkwave's ethereal haze, glitchcore's chaotic distortions, and voidcore's abyssal emptiness. The result is an immersive, addictive soundscape—binaural beats pulsing at 40Hz and 174Hz to tie in seduction and euphoria, 3D audio for psychotic despair, and unpolished production that bleeds raw intensity. Themes delve into mental health's labyrinth: dissociation's void, addiction's grip, damaging relationships' scars, and the triumph of self-reclamation. Khimera's artistry extends beyond audio to visual realms, with album artwork featuring charcoal sketches, gothic horror elements, and luciferian symbolism, all crafted to evoke a "junkie holocaust death march" of creepy, apocalyptic introspection.
Since its inception, Echo's N MelanKholyia has released a series of chapters that push artistic boundaries, available on platforms like Spotify, Amazon Music, SoundCloud, Apple Music, Tidal, Qobuz, and TikTok. The project's YouTube channel serves as a portal for official music videos, behind-the-scenes glimpses, and community engagement, fostering a space where fans can explore their own narratives through Khimera's lens. With collaborations leveraging AI for production and thematic depth, the band stands as a beacon for the disenchanted, proving that art can heal, empower, and transcend.
Subscribe to Echo's N MelanKholyia on YouTube for a journey into the melanKholyia—where echoes of the past forge omegas of the future. For inquiries or collaborations, connect via Facebook or X (@Mothyii13). All rights reserved © 2025 Echo's N MelanKholyia.