When The Plastic Is Torn And The Mould Grows – Wrapped In Words

Thrusting vertical compressions against a stone slab made of forgotten sources, 

veracious sicknesses wanted for your skeptical monsoon,

a blistering storm of nothingness taken from within your bitterness,

while I gave you something worthy to say,

I took away everything else you ever needed,

I submerged everything you ever were in a foothill of mud,

gifted in the bloody limestone of acceptance,

sinner and forgiver,

rejoice for it will be will be a new dawn,

before the end,

before the judgment of what you is made by the finest steel my hands can wrap themselves around…

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