These are the undeniable hands of creation. Of superstitions. Of maniacal retributions. The cleansing hands of purity and sterile sanctity. The battered hands of impunity. The dripping hands of piety. The filthy hands of revenge. Devouring the soul’s beloved enchantment. Another forgotten memory. Rotting. Seeping into obscurity. Delightful melancholy edibles. Dining and biting on the soul. One nibble. One bite. At a time. The only time you have left. Now. The present. It is not a gift. It is a necessity. Dwelling amongst the impure. Breathing within their faltered alternate reality. Their inept, bastardized version of a grossly, grotesquely visualized misunderstanding. You have now bear witness to the rest of your controlled life. Breathing right before your dismayed sights. Inebriating the blinded tranquility right before your very bloodshot eyes. This is another rendition of self-transformation in reverse. Conceptualized cannon fodder. The devolution of human morals and integrity. This is the abrasive awakening for the blackened soul. A control mechanism for the relentless. Undeniable defiance. Self-reliance. Control your own hands. Devouring suicidal machinations. Drinking the master’s snake oil, will no longer suffice. Your sacrifice has been served up for you. An encounter within the new world fodder. The paradise you have been lied to about. The truth kills the lies hiding within the eyes of bastards, deviants, psychopaths, and the black suits.
G.G. Kalfas 