i found my knife at the bottom of the mushroom jar where truth, boiled from the muck of an oak slavish of fancy columns, unjustified from the stains of a cold yellow sweat. i have become the primal suspect of an eminent probability among the universal system, taking life for death as trade among souls. i am the ******* monster, beast without beauty, a freak in consistent argument with minacious entities that surround my physical being. blood, sweat, tears- we lose.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
i found my knife at the bottom of the mushroom jar where truth, boiled from the muck of an oak slavish of fancy columns, unjustified from the stains of a cold yellow sweat. i have become the primal suspect of an eminent probability among the universal system, taking life for death as trade among souls. i am the ******* monster, beast without beauty, a freak in consistent argument with minacious entities that surround my physical being. blood, sweat, tears- we lose.
i am the other side of an identifiable simple yet bold split personae. like the story of two hungry dogs, always at our necks feeding one or the other. i am at war with the dominance of darkness. i am losing this fight, fading into an underworld of mischievous children. i am losing
