the chills roll down his infatuated back
distraught by the natural powers he holds within. the elation in his abusive mantra i as dark as life itself. the same generic cans run across the same desert
only this time it’s darker outside
somehow colder into the faces of sad deplictions and happy-faced monsters. funny how contradictions roll off my tongue like the ever-sweet bitterness of life
maneuvering itself around the pointy orabge cones of death. The hierarchy beckons with its bony extended fingers
resorting to the solace in your body
filling you up with the feeling of remorse and hell-bent joy. He promises not to laugh as you walk through that dilapadated shell you once called your mortal body. He has resigned from your life and devoted himself to the martyrs
whom which are standing by the gates to hell
smoking joints and playing poker to eddem themselves from their innocent upholding. Waiting for their tenements to explode. Ripping apart their pseudo-republican policies and anit-freedom ideas. They’re decadent hallow limbs ready to combust in the face of their upside-down mannequins they call hate and solitude.