Pathological Frequencies

Spewing, renewing, and gluing your words into my ears. I have heard them before; many, many times over. I can recall all of your syllables from memory. You are a weak attempt of a soul sacrifice. A martyr onto yourself. The truest falsity within this frequency. You are sitting on the only worth you will ever be. Low expectations. None could be more relevant. Your pudgy, stubby fingers rub into your flesh, just as processed meat would rub into a bun. Your whole life has been processed into words with no meaning. The lens is the only eye which captures a glimpse into your lie. Your life. Your words. Your meaning. This is when the memories of your tarnished undertakings cease. Cradled. Intertwined. Maligned malignancy. A grown frequency living in infancy. Pathological. Eviscerate and exterminate the ingrate.

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