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stressventing. written the night of publishing, among others that were already written. |
a limitless end to an inescapable door greed clawing at the frame hoping for more fury gnawing at the bones charred beyond recognition shattered skulls tossed with splintered shins twine tied around the wrists threads split as the knots twist churning onyx waters below the pier signaling that after forever, it is here the rotting woods falls into the pit below into the abyss that not even the omniscient know every body turned inside out the gloom muffling every shout yet the rosy-eyed skeletons march on no idea where they're going, nor where they come from frightened by the beasts that they see blissfully unaware that it lies within thee the sands pour endlessly into the hourglass the indoor flag strung at half-mast snarled fangs and twisted flesh gnawing teeth and snapped bones everything and nothing in the cornucopia of the cornea what point is light if we fashion it from the dark? broken and repurposed, wounds leaving a mark marring the flesh and tainting the bone trying to create differing purity from purity alone illumination that brought only strife a life lost at the edge of a knife as we march on to the deafning blare of the fife doors stained red and green stepping to the beat of our own machines engine whirring that replaces hearts beating cogs turning faster with the fleeting hope that anything will cease to be swiftly, resolutely, absolutely, and positively be anything but this, something it was meant to be but who says what should? the old adage of knocking on wood doesn't apply if nothing holds any meaning blue vines wrapped around yellow trees bleeding black ooze from the flowers seeping deeper and deeper into the earth as the ravenous maws in the dirt swallow everything that falls within devouring all without sin for as twisted as it may sound the jaws of a bloodthirsty hound the snarled lips and gnashing fangs in the ground causing large bangs have a horrifying purity that is more than we could ever be |