"prescribes" poems
LOSING YOU HAS BEEN THE MOST NUMBING EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFE IT'S BEEN PAINFUL BUT IT'S THE MOST COMFORTABLE PAIN I'VE EVER BEEN BROUGHT UPON IN THE PROCESS OF LOSING YOU I'VE LEARNED THAT THERE ARE DIFFERENT TYPES OF NUMBNESS THERE'S THE NUMBNESS YOU FEEL WHEN THE DOCTOR PRESCRIBES YOU MEDICATION AND YOUR BODY DOESN'T REACT THE RIGHT WAY AND THEN THERE'S THE NUMBNESS YOU EXPERIENCE WHEN YOU'RE COMING OFF OF NOVACANE BUT THE TYPE OF NUMBNESS YOU'VE CAUSED ME TO FEEL IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL NUMBNESS I THINK A PERSON CAN FEEL BECAUSE I FEEL FREE AND NOW THAT YOU'RE GONE I REALIZED IT DOESN'T FEEL ANY DIFFERENT FROM WHEN YOU WERE SUPPOSEDLY IN MY LIFE SO CAN A PERSON REALLY LOSE SOMEONE THEY FEEL THEY NEVER REALLY HAD IN THEIR LIFE TO BEGIN WITH?
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
True equality is what is wished for
But what if you really opened that door
What would be on the other side?
I’m not sure we’d enjoy the ride
Individuality dies with equality
There are no choices you see
If everyone has to have the same things
No one gets to win the brass ring
No more people like you and people like me
If the same is all we ever get to be
The same model car and the same clothes
The same old food in the same homes
The same haircut and the same color
Or we are all clean shaved so much the duller
The same education for everybody
You’re paid the same as anybody
Sports would all end in a tie
If there still played at all… sigh
No more winners, No more losers
No choices so no choosers
There are no differing opinions you see
When you’re a victim of true equality
No reason to strive
There is no ladder to climb
No reward for hard work
Are you feeling the irk?
No matter what, you cannot get ahead
It’s almost as if you are full of lead
But that just it, no ahead to get
When everyone gets what everyone gets
The Thought police are out in full force
No one is married or there is no divorce
No kids at all or everyone has 2
There is no longer me and no longer you
When equal society is the important thing
Everyone gets to feel every sting
Orwellian yes
But truth none the less
The only people different are the ones in charge
While everyone suffers they live it large
They get to decide how much you’re alive
And they can tell you 2+2=5
So how does this strike you?
Will that work for you too?
I’m not a fan
Of this little plan
Because not everyone is the same
No matter what people will claim
We don’t think the same thoughts
We don’t call the same shots
Not even twins are exactly the same
And if we all were, what a boring game
Just a bunch of clones, going nowhere
Just dull and drab, no bling and no flair.
Yet that is what current society prescribes
Even though were all from different tribes
If we ever achieve true equality
Remember sometimes wishes end badly
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
Is not equivalent to a broken leg.
Who came up with that analogy?
Someone who hasn't experienced either
Seems the only probability.
It's far more akin to a giant spasm,
Contorting your leg against your will,
And stopping it seems highly unatural,
And each doctor prescribes different pills.
Nobody has fluctuating broken legs,
Or fractured limbs that cause them to count
The precise number of steps they take,
And despair if it's the wrong amount,
Or healing bones that turn reality
Into hallucinatory nightmares,
Or make you stay awake all week,
And start berating chairs.
But the worst of that analogy
(It drives me quite insane!),
Is that broken legs are quick to heal,
And cause a lot less pain.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
ೋღ❤ღೋೋღ❤ღೋ
*Walking down a wooded path
tall flowing trees all around,
I came upon the river’s edge
and sat down on the ground.
Sitting at the edge of the river
I stare at its ongoing flow,
I start to give it all my pain
a release with each little throw.
My hardest pain is fear
that I’ve had from so long ago,
of never feeling good enough
that’s dulled my inner glow.
It eats at me like a cancer
each and every day,
the fear of never being good enough
and again being thrown away.
Years of disappointment and abuse
only being property, nothing to love,
but always trying to make things right
so everyone else could rise above.
I throw this fear out into the river
sit back and watch it pass slowly by,
I wrap my arms around myself
feel the release, let myself cry.
I throw out all the other pains
betrayal, heartache, loneliness and more,
I watch them drift gently way
these last tears will be left on this river shore.
Noticing as each and every pain
slowly floats down the river away,
I observe at a distance
as they fade into the suns sparkling rays.
Walking down a wooded path
tall flowing trees all around,
I came upon the river’s edge
and was surprised at what I found.*
***And ever onward shall we strive
and from the circle peace derive.
The sea in robes of mossy green
and blues the eye has never seen...
In grays that mock the stormy sky
and depths that hold the tears gone by....***
*A sweet release we give our heart
from pain of past that tore apart,
relief that only one can find
when hearts we let, become unconfined,
to leave behind those stormy skies
letting self-love baptize…*
***A tide of tears resides within
and waits to overflow.
i greet with a smiling face
so others will not know.
How feeble is this masquerade.
Transparent are the games.
Emotions should be given room
without the chides and blames.
The time will come to open up
and let the dam release...
my will, the pressure stop.
my soul will be at peace.
Weep when grief prescribes.
Laugh for humor's sake.
Love with everything you have
and forgive, all your mistakes.***
ೋღ❤ღೋೋღ❤ღೋ
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
I don’t ****
With the farm life
At these pharmacies
Affecting brains
Like the mad cow disease
These pills
CVS deal
Like the new
Dope man
Dopamine can be
As mean
As the M and M’s
The doctor prescribes
Dropping dreams
For a little bit
Of “rest at ease”
While the rest
Of these fiends
Lie
To themselves
And me
Meaning
The mean green
****
Killing machine
Can extract
The euphoria
You make yourself
By resting eyes
On your family
Your fam would be
Much happier
If you were
Happy
For yourself
More water is
Fine
I don’t need
No help
Championship ****
I don’t need
No belt
Pants sag
Like the bags
In grandma eye’s
Cries
As she tries
To pry dope needles
Out a dead man's hands
Handing himself
To the Devil’s food
We put on
A pedestal
Meanwhile stools
At the bar
Spin like the
Mind
Of a man with little time
Left
Right in the eyes
Of his children
He makes
A short trip
After one more sip
****
I guess
It boils down
To the bear essentials
Bear the bruises
With the heart
God gave you
Don't let them fool you
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:02 AM UTC
Emerald’s Trance
Oh Irish eyes you follow me all through the emerald isle you stop time it runs backward and
Forwards the rush heady the roots of Irish lore entangle me fully I see the loving vesture worn in pride its
Charm is magnified there is much of the Leprechaun and blarney stone just the correct amount to
Solidify a national identity and then to complete everything in magic top it all off with a red headed lass
With the greenest eyes the heart skips and dances all about when you are as full as you think you can
Take then she speaks does not the mystical burst forth openly ancient days flood the valleys sweeping
You into the power that alone is Ireland come with me suspend reality search for the *** of gold you will
Find riches that even surpass gold a place a people where the well springs of charm and laughter echo
Down roads and streets in every village and city every once and a while you need a place you can empty
Your heart and ready your being for thrills without fear I know it has been a land of conflict but in spite
Of it justice takes it all in stride makes it as a whole a tribute to diversity that is tinged with divinity a coloring
That prescribes a peace that finds loyalist pockets but leads on to the far borders where understanding
Shakes itself and gives way to reason as the bowman takes all factors into consideration distance
Wind age bows power weight of arrow and most important experience in hitting the bull’s eye seldom
Is victory and success derived in any other way than by turmoil and hard fighting who can lose when
Your held in the gaze of the greenest green dreams are hard to be defeated she gives nobility to the
cause the fight has purity at the head all will easily fall romantic treasure will fill your lives with greater riches
Than many pots of gold
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 6:05 AM UTC
i found two things bewildering,
alzheimer's attacks the pronoun
category, and other forms of it too,
but modern psychiatry
having abolished asylums for
a humane revision of its practice
has become a branch of medicine
that over-prescribes nouns,
and by such over-prescription
invents noun jargon,
it cut open an ancient greek word,
used the prefix (overly) and added a suffix (sufficiently)
to make no sense whatsoever,
it prescribes neonouns like it prescribes
pills that don't work... or if working
then in a negative way... anti-psychotics
can make you **** yourself in your bed
when sleeping, i've been drinking for some
time, and my bladder is arnold schwarzenegger,
when i used to be on anti-psychotics for
no adequate reason (living in a post-colonial
society does that to you, you can come from
lithuania or poland and be treated like a
would-be coloniser to extract the fastest
sprinters for a new country, without the "doctors"
treating you adequately),
so as i said: alzheimer's attacks the pronouns,
the iron core of the earth that's an individual
thus dislodging all the adequate orientations
of categorisations of words... like psychiatry
abuses the noun category: schizoid, schizo-affective,
plain dumb schizophrenic... bi-polar, uni-polar,
plain dumb depressed... psychiatry has long
established a monopoly on nouns...
i just use their terminology to excavate a new
grammatical categorisation of words,
from poetry, among nouns adjectives pronouns
and conjunctions... you'll find psychiatry nicely suited
and booted as a word categorisation: metaphor:
all psychiatric diagnostics should be categorised as
metaphorical... 'cos they name it... but have no idea
as to how to behave behind it: it's not like they
say cancer and you're expected to die...
you're expected to live in their terminology
of treating you for a ******* pay-cheque:
you won't even commit a crime, but they'll
treat you like a criminal... so long suckers...
i mean western europeans, i rather live in (as the
americans say) i-raq... and shoot a bunch of you
protected by what i see as the final solution
you thought was once church v. state...
how about segregating democracy (the church)
from bureaucracy (the state)... but of course
the two are mutually dependent.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
She is a true blue living legend
displaying many colors of love
there is no doubt about it,if only
you know where to look at.
But wait,in the way she expresses it
everything would get reversed!
if one concludes she is demure,
think twice before deciding.
She did invent a new tongue
entirely of monosyllables!
write it in high hieroglyphics
none could ever aspire to decipher.
Don't forget to take this fact in to account
in bed, she is a whirlwind
unlike most Indian brides,
who wear shyness as an armour
tradition prescribes for brides.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
Trying not to look into the pupils of the sun
A smoke screen and *****
Pursuing soft unspoken ones
Halfway to here is there
Do I spin or do the clouds?
Perception prescribes the anecdote
Do I laugh or does the clown?
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
A doctor once told me
That all medicine is poison.
And all poison medicine.
The only thing we change
The only difference
Is the dose.
And I feared I've poisoned you my love
For two years now I've poisoned you.
I am poison
So I lessen the dose.
Each day, because I love you.
Maybe like so many men in white coats
I'll stumble upon the perfect dose of me
That will stop the pain that my poison has caused.
My anger and jealousy
My ignorance and shame
And thoughtless mind.
Can you take me twice a day?
Maybe that's too much.
Once a day? and I'll call you in the morning?
And I've feared most that the dose of me for you
That magic amount that will turn me from poison to medicine
Is zero.
And so less and less I've given you
And still I see your eyes fading.
But how can you inject your love so directly into my veins
And still be my medicine. How is your love the one thing
That in such high doses still
Cures my ills, heals my broken mind and heart.
Your love is pure medicine.
Your love.
I've been doing it all wrong.
Starving the fever Instead of feeding the cold
You're not gone, nor am I.
I'll never go, I'll be by your side
If only you'll still let me
I'll kiss every bruised inch of your body
Until your beautiful skin glows again
Sleep, rest, heal with me
I won't let you go until your heart is filled
Love is never poison
It's a fool who prescribes too small a dose to cure.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
Before my bloodstream's polluted with manufactured motivation..
Attention called to minute details
by the list making apparatus
Leaving out open-minded ideals
Cleaned up in linear format
On a soapbox now
Defining my own propaganda
Without trying to sell everyone something
The things that keep us pacified
The things that the doctor prescribes
To keep the sheep in line
The condensed herd
Share a lost mind
Conform follows dysfunction
Following the leader off the cliff of innocence
After we found ourselves thinking about the end again.
The illusion of security.
A veil of hazed fog lifts to reveal the ugliness we hide
The aftermath of nights spent beating out hearts into the foreground as Mr. Hyde
Behind a plagiarized euphoric state
This smiles meant to fake
At least until I get what I want...
Then I'm tripping over clothes en route to escape
The anti-walk of shame.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
all I do is write and erase
nothing sounds as good as nothing tastes,
except these cigarettes that lay on my tongue
to calm my mind from words I can't replace.
it's like trying to explain how empty feels
as the one who's aware prescribes another pill,
the numbing sting of obliviousness
lets no rhyme exist for what's not real.
and I yearn with forward hope so much,
that when dawn turns from day and from day into dusk,
I find myself on bended knee
begging forgiveness in Who we trust.
still yet it seems that I am bound
in a lifetime drenched, and dried, and drowned
'cause left turns and cross traffic,
have been all I've ever found.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 12:57 PM UTC
My mom says I can talk to her
But when I do, she says, "That ***** what's for dinner?"
My dad says he understands,
But he says what I feel is inhumane
My therapist gets paid to listen to me rant
But she just prescribes me pills
No one can afford.
Maybe if I had a best friend,
They would watch my cry,
And they would nod
And really understand.
Maybe if I had a dog,
They would never interrupt me,
And they would lick me tear-stained face.
But I am a lone wolf
And I don't like animals
So I talk to myself.
And when the day is close to over
And I just can't bite my lip
I slip into the shower and hug myself.
My lips swell with the emotion I try to hold in.
I can't tell if it's salt water and pure running down my cheeks
But my chest feels like there is a hurricane
Breaking everything it touches.
And my eyes burn but I can't rinse out any more shampoo.
Finally, I can't hold it back,
And with my hands in my hair,
My lips betray me
And a hiccup sort of sound echoes throughout the steamy bathroom.
Then my heart races
And my vision blurs
And my stomach fills with butterflies
And my brain goes into over-drive.
Emotions cave into me,
Draw me into the volcano
But I cannot stop it from erupting.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
Horse heads tucked away
beneath your sheets
pigs root in the grass and the goats gently bleat.
All is quiet on the farm tucked in the valley
and in the small shack you built on the edge of the property,
with its round door you painstakingly framed,
it it beautiful
Barefoot in overalls your day is encompassed with sweet earth
and ever ripening carrots
it remains is beautiful
Armed with an 8 track recorder, a guitar, banjo and mandolin
you slowly construct the simple yet elegant notes
that speak volumes and leave those who listen
wondering where this noise came from.
You explain to them the unawares of the answer
you try to explain the movement
the feeling
the science behind the notes
they do not understand.
Precious few do
But thats okay
For the few that do it resonates to their core
makes them wonder
dream
appreciate
the hours spent and lost.
The timelessness,
the harmonics,
the ever lengthening prose that is engrained within the
Like that of a fine wood
much goes into the tight construction
and to make something truly astounding
it takes special care
So you work for a year or two in attempt to skull your way through the still waters
of the soul
to find the long forgotten island where the compositive chest full of you buried creativity lays
One may hope that this place truly exists
that somewhere deep inside there is the key to opening the box of your dreams
hopes
musings
To understand there way there one must not look within
but outward
towards sky
The bounty the world prescribes will overflow the chest you find
To sit
to think
an introverted mess
a blotched paper with ink
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
The intensely loved and cherished child,
Can suffer late.
Waiting innocently through,
The too few summers
Spent in total love.
Above him still, the parents’ strength
Prescribes the length
His loving years shall run,
Before time’s taint reveals his ancient face
Beneath the slowly peeling paint
Of pictures placed
To keep the knowing day at bay,
And stay completion of the plan
To mould the clay, in such a way
He grows a sold, and silent man.
Unless time slays his shining sun.
To extinguish all sensation
In one swift and savage stroke,
Before a doubt is spoken,
Or, disaffection’s woken
From his learning touch.
He perhaps, expects too much.
Such is the faith of infants
Safe within their fragile skin,
So thinly wrought in thoughtful art,
That the heart’s wild wishes can depart,
But disenchantment can’t see in.
© James Rainsford 2010
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 7:24 AM UTC
a doctor is man who treats you when your ill does all your body checks then prescribes a pill.
come back in week he says while i do test and in the meantime just go home and rest.
then when you go back hoping nothings wrong.its ok your healthy very fit and strong.
Feb 14, 2010
Feb 14, 2010 at 6:05 AM UTC
The malady of age
and the dangers still ahead
aches and newer pains
some, just inside my head
The doctor prescribes
pills and other things
to him I'm just a number
waiting in the wings
The TV tells me of drugs
I should use and try
I tell this to my doctor
he readily complies
I know that big pharma
is ever in control
pushing every remedy
they ply, sell, and extol
I wish for blissful dreams
of painless nights and days
a human type of guinea pig
chemically played
Wondering, only in periphery
of smaller type not read
dying of the cure
Pharmaceutically fed
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 1:39 PM UTC
**If you pretend, you'll never know the right way this ends.
It's the passion of my pen that prescribes this medical zen.
In my den, I walk on water, I speak in colors, it's the message that I send- I received,
Do you really need to know where it comes from?
There's this spiritual axiom, that I've been askin' him, entranced by this romance,
All these butterflies and pretty clouds I've never had the chance to give.
In my passive peculiar I'm a user of catastrophe, exacerbate the simple happenings
That disaster brings. When I lived in California it was women, it was water, it wasn't the waves,
The way her hair flirted and twirled, and whipped around when the sun every-day would
Come out.
It wasn't that I didn't have the drive, the will to survive, I even had the doll-dollars, my rent was paid, I flew around in private airplanes, and every single day I got laid. Even her father was like, "He's a cool cat, you better make 'em put a ring on that." But she ****** ain't got a clue-
if I was me then now, then I'd now what I was supposed to do.
I was supposed to ride... clear the air and see the skies. Be bliss-bound, virile, like White Snake, Just make her mine. But I was...insincere, adolescent, and hiding behind a barrier. I didn't have the Strength to carry her. It was paramount, but I wasn't 100% percent clear.
Now I'd say, well, since, it's been 1,244 days. While I sit and listen to grave-wave, having a great day.
I'm in love again, and the music says,"There's a lot of cool in them, and he never had a doubt."
Kay even said, I shouldn't trouble on the past, the present is so much better then even the future, she said, "It's in you" and I guess the Truth is, I imagine you, beautiful, intriguing, like a different forever, that even I once was 20, too.
For Kristine
By Martin Narrod**
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
in the age of super fast optic coptic broadband connectivity,
writing had to leave the lives of respectable corset donning girls
who’d lounge all day with balzac and long tennyson stanzas,
who’d read for relaxation...
sorry to break it to you huckleberry finn...
but reading these days is all about distraction...
distraction distraction distractions...
plenty of them in the “real” world too... it’s called the goldfish
salute... slàinte mhath... dheagh shlàinte...
next time you hear an advertisement don’t think of promotion
(that’s done through the ol’ word o’ mouth)...
think more on the lines: ailing company... ailments in general...
a public relations stunt... for those grandiose profit margins;
true that... when a man is sick, has a cold a fever,
he is prescribed paracetamol... when it's a company...
the economic model prescribes the medicine known as advertisement.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
Got those early week blues
So please won't you grace
Me with something funny
To put a smile on my face
A feel-good story
Or a friendly life tip
Your best one-liner
Or a clever quip
I just want to laugh
I just want to grin
And against despondency
I just want a win
A cheerful heart is good medicine
Just what the Doctor prescribes
So let's help each other out
With some positive vibes
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:17 PM UTC
There are some things that science cannot explain
some things cannot be wrapped around the cerebrum
and as it unfolds
we see the earth is 13.8 billion years old.
Thrace down my 100,000 miles of blood before you tell me who I am or what I'm made of.
And although we can see
that Mercury is 799 degrees,
that doesn't help with all the physicistry.
My doctor asks me to stick out my tongue.
I ask if he can see all the pain choked in my throat,
he laughs as if I'm telling a joke,
I'm not.
And although we can produce a light
a million times brighter than the sun
we have problems saying words like please and thank you and love.
I tell my psychiatrist about the sadness that shakes all 206 of my bones
as my cerebellum pulses with ten billion neurons and flashbacks and blood cells and "Post Traumatic Symptom Disorder," because everything has to have a name in science.
So the doctor prescribes Zoloft, and Prozac, and Ability, and Paxil to numb the passion,
But she contradicts with the words,
"Life isn't supposed to make you feel good or bad,
for it is just supposed to make you feel."
Because when my hand is on my chest I feel something there,
A force pumping 100,000 miles of blood across my limbs
filled with broken iambic pentameters, and stars of lust, with music, and sleeping pills, and roses of wonder-
for there are just some things within me that science cannot explain.
And although it can explain my heart bleeding,
It can't define the meaning,
or prescribe what we are needing,
here were assigned ******* seating,
and the teacher explains my uneasy breathing,
but in my head i can't stop the screaming,
and the sciences seems to be fleeting
as they can't explain us meeting,
our minds and eyes so gleaming,
its just the feeling,
when even science can't tell if you're drowning or dreaming,
because these brain cells are fleeting
as there are just some things
science
cannot explain.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
In the dance of body and mind, intertwined, Distort the body, the mind’s path unwinds. Disrupt the mind, the body’s rhythm breaks, A cycle of chaos, each part it takes.
Western medicine, with its potent pills, Prescribes for the body, yet the mind it fills. Natural processes, disrupted and torn, A dependence on pharmaceuticals is born.
The body’s whispers, now muffled and weak, The mind’s clarity, a distant peak. In this cycle, we seek to find, A balance of body, a harmony of mind.
Holistic paths, a gentle embrace, To heal the body, the mind’s grace.
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025 at 12:54 PM UTC
LOSING YOU HAS BEEN THE MOST NUMBING EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFE IT'S BEEN PAINFUL BUT IT'S THE MOST COMFORTABLE PAIN I'VE EVER BEEN BROUGHT UPON. IN THE PROCESS OF LOSING YOU I'VE LEARNED THAT THERE ARE DIFFERENT TYPES OF NUBMNESS. THERE'S THE NUMBNESS YOU FEEL WHEN THE DOCTOR PRESCRIBES YOU MEDICATION AND YOUR BODY DOESN'T REACT THE RIGHT WAY AND THEN THERE'S THE NUMBNESS YOU EXPERIENCE WHEN YOU'RE COMING OFF OF NOVACANE. BUT THE TYPE OF NUMBNESS YOU'VE CAUSED ME TO FEEL IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL NUMBNESS A PERSON CAN FEEL BECAUSE I FEEL FREE AND NOW THAT YOU'RE GONE I REALIZED IT DOESN'T FEEL ANY DIFFERENT FROM WHEN YOU WERE SUPPOSEDLY IN MY LIFE SO CAN A PERSON REALLY LOSE SOMEONE THEY FEEL THEY NEVER REALLY HAD TO BEGIN WITH?
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
if you asked me to describe it
i’d say it’s like that lump in your throat
you get when you’re sad
that you can’t cough, swallow, or relieve
it’s name is suicide
and despite what the doctors say
i think it chokes you to death
the black smoke collects in your lungs
and the blankets and pillows smother you at night
until you panic, fighting to relive the attack
but you can’t. because it’s inside of you.
so you **** your self, to **** the pain
makes sense right?
it’s the only medication a doctor never prescribes
but that’s not the end of it
when the air is cleared from your lungs
and your chest sinks into the floor
all your loved ones begin to inhale the noxious fumes
they attract the massive black mass that fills the room
and they begin to die of the same disease that plagued you
and starts the process all over again
and they’ll have to fight, or become consumed
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 1:43 PM UTC