The angle is clear, go.
We saw all thier hopelessness.
Pray heaven for them, they weep thier lonely songs.
Crying empty tears through moulded heartless glass goggles.
Clawing at what is set before,
We see what we bled behind,
The laceration, crystal inevitability.
Hindsight is a hand grenade.
Would you blow up yourself?
Pieces. Jigsaw. Do they match up?
Black bag demon swimming effortlessly through the air. He knows his destination and he glides effortlessly across the chunks of human.
Cradle to the grave. Polyethylene panther.
Silent in its mission but getting tired of a full meaty meal. What makes a bodybag in the desert?