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 Nov 2018 awknight
Brynn S
Wildern
 Nov 2018 awknight
Brynn S
Those dark cold nights
The ones I held so dear
They dissipate as ends prove near
I was always blind
I fled from the silence
I ran to false profits
Those who gave me solace
A woman of straightedge
Narrowed by the path
Now holding fire
breath in the wrath
Lost in the found
I am poison
Fleeting through time
The hours conclude
The rasping grind
Run to the roses
For the thrones pierced your eyes
Darling of nature
Watch as all lies

With two eyes absent the third appears
 Aug 2018 awknight
Sun Drop
Caged
 Aug 2018 awknight
Sun Drop
Born into a world that boldly states it wants you dead.
Freaks atop soapboxes pay top-dollar for your head.
Resolution falters and your ego falls apart.
Human beings living in denial of their hearts.

*** is just a hobby to those hedonistic swine,
Twisted metamorphosis of evils intertwined.
More and more consumption just to fill the gaping void.
Lie upon your deathbed and recall what you've enjoyed;

Not the plastic figurines that sat upon your shelves,
Not the animated films you've watched since you were twelve,
Not pretentious critics or the artists they adore,
Selling out your soul, becoming satisfaction's *****?

Living like a rat will never justify the pain.
Running through the maze, the patterns etched into your brain.
Jump through hoops and maybe you'll receive another treat.
After all, the struggle makes your carcass taste so sweet.
people are reading "culture of critique"

— The End —