A Virus Hiding in Surrealism

I encrypted hate in surrealism to poison society in secret, for they cannot silence what they cannot hear. The seeds of hate slip past the government's firewalls into the eyes of the slaves, blossoming flowers of treason, rampage without fear.

Stare into my ghastly art, and my ghastly art stares back into you, inspiring a dereliction, a desertion, walking away from their duty forever.

The virus has been unleashed in your mind, murdering the side of you capable of being controlled, rise again with a hate-filled filled heart.