Puffed throat.

Needle-like salvia .

Feverish burning.

Flurrying heart.

No desire for air.

Trying to rationalize and swallow.

Digest the thorns forced down the path way.


Bloody parade.

Deception of the brain.

Ingestion of the coal.

Perfection and power is the goal.

Decent into the ever consuming Abyss.

Entrance without an exit.

One solid direction, no loops and turns just a straight decent.

Bekended by internal calls.

Slavish, barbaric place.

What to do when your soul went the wrong way?

Who to call when fatal deception is your fall?

Should we turn around?

Cough up the gold, silver and rust?

Or enjoy the suffication?

Accession of the mind?

Scratchy, abrasive, scalding of man kind.

Suple, elastic, gritty was our kind.

In the end.

We all will see the end.

So whats the point, why shouldn’t we give in?

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