My swollen tongue has derived over time and the spacing is deliberate.
I've acquired a mind cunning and venomous, ****** for its immaculate canyons.
"Welcome to the Lottery," they said, the snares and the eyes were plenty.
Restraint and conviction aside, any place outside of my throbbing mess of an entity was nowhere for me to be.
But this made me the culprit, the messiah, and the victim.
The slayer, the lover, the slain, and the fighter.
The refugee, the all-knowing, the patron saint, and the living dead.
All of whom could digress that I would never escape such an untimely event.

There was no response to my oncoming tidings, biddings, and affairs.
Although, I can tell you I was found amongst the flowers and the sewer rats.