the beliefs you ***** in your mind meet each other's corners and become walls, halls and buildings. like in city streets. what's left are small passages where dust and debris collect and gather as if for communion. acid rain from above pays homage to the world, each drop in a puddle; another donation to the collection plate.

the ebb and flow of happenings leave their watermark.. high and low, their stain and filth. the polluted contents stagnate, laid upon stucko or brick.  and you'd have to really lean your head back to get perspective on all of this ****. your monuments tower, derelict but something you call your own.

so very important because they are now your home. and home is not where the heart is in this city of sin. you're disgusting, you are filth, your dignity: you bend.
you're ashamed of all that would make this right, but you laugh at the light. all it's ever done for you is lay rays upon your despicableness. it wasn't always like this but now you relish the dark, it's harder to tell if that's sweat or tears.

laying in wait, while all your demons comfortably spin their wheels and weave their tapestries while you sleep and after your slumber you look upon the travesty that is done for you. the clouds move in, in your mouth a weird taste, and with the last spit in your jaw you mutter "**** this ******* place"