Huddled within boundaries highlighted by the craftier. Stubbornly, yet unwillingly willing, escorted to the connoisseurs of morality. Structured, consistent, but reembodied into randomness, the more the merrier.
Spoiled, unripened, famished and fat.
Pleasant, fresh, fit, chubby and… adolescent.
In the name of manipulation, and its ***** messengers, we honour the catalogued pious. To Venus; the untrue, the shameful, the blasphemous. We serve peace and love, abandon the lies of Gods, join your cherished sisters below.

Holy, we are born. Holy, is our lives. Holy, is our love. Holy, is our sins. Holy, is our suffering. Holy, is our salivation. Graced Mother bestow us with suffering, cleanse us of divinity.

Realities as decomposed societies set, still lives on.
Society is the crossbred of fables and obsolesce.
Reality for the individual differs, believers in disbelief, disbelievers in disbelief.
Belief is six feet below.
Truth for believers lie in realities. Reality for the disbeliever lies in truths.
Atrocious civilisations nearing transcendental ruin, for the pillars are fractured, the bases decayed and the headstones are unbinding.

The words caged within are not to be discussed.
Our minds and hearts are heard and seen through these words, by the deafened and the blind.
No one dares to intrude with caged words.
If set free, they're personal and presumptuousness alluring..
The dilemma still unsolved.

How long must I carry on this charade?! I could end it now! My brain chooses not to... I'm torn apart between this unclear prideful life, and what lies behind the doors.
I knock and knock and knock endlessly, and not a clue still of what lies behind a single door.
There's a gate, a gate wide open and unguarded, but it's so far beyond lines and lines of closed doors.. Yet so apparent to the naked mind, all naked minds!

For I only know God, believe in God, and beseech God, through you, and to you.
For you beam and emit holiness, and sin.
For all the sins I commit in and to your name, will proudly shine.
For I will strangulate your sins to disintegration.
I dub your sins and morality as mirrors of faith.
For divinity, is yours alone.

I loathe the possibilities. I loathe the known and unknown circumstances. I loathe the reasons. I loathe the conclusions. I loathe the recurring scenarios. I loathe the bottomless hell pits. I have yet to learn to loathe the consequences. I loathe you, Anxiety, and I loathe your comrades.