Barren, first, the golden nest. The budding breast. Bloated with mystical imaginary potential that paused in glory with thoughts of ghosts, fled.
The ebbing, unknown wound. The disfigured prison of resonant debauchery; seeping through cracks, corroded with mold. Blissfully ignorant insanity.
Misled prayers for sunshine in the hopeless, Godless cathedral of rapid time. like a tsunami of death, a roaring river of blood. Drowning the life out of all that was good.
