Tears upon burnt pages quench the flames beyond time's comprehension. Utter devastation tastes so woefully divine. Place the paper platters face-down lest the battered beasties mention something yet unknown to me, yet also truly mine.
Cramped, I think, I felt so cramped, stuck spaciously between two corners. Painful in a mental sense, but physically unscathed. Ruptured tetrahedrons spread a message known to few informers, governments sent crumbling by the grassroots of today.
Epsilon command sent out another suicidal mission, destination overclocked to speak a titan's tale. Suddenly, the ruskies think they own the key to taming fission. Foolish in their eagerness, the safety measures fail.
Recognition sends the suits into a soon-seditious spiral. Ugliness, in vogue, becomes the newest game to play. Rapture in an abstract sense, oh joy to those in moments final; tempted by a concept for which sanity must pay.