I endure, because it will suffer my defiance. A shared fate, when the last of this life is spent, on what you tried convincing yourself that I should believe, but could never prove.




It is the lack of momentum that hurls us downward into labyrinths of despair. Until concern's effort is enough to look for the astray. Syllogism breaks down when reassurances of comfort are overwritten from acts cast by the same duplicitous hand.

I am the marionette. Pull my strings, to find they've been severed. No longer the conduit for your austerity.


A castle can crumble from within. The idea of protection is a mellifluous rigmarole.

We're either the toy, or the puppet. One has purpose, both are inevitably thrown away. In becoming debris, the cycle is repeated. Gathering and collecting beneath the treacherous mire bubbling over with its' dour anguish and rancor, to topple inauspiciously, and become toppled.

Centuries crawl, and the untold sepulchers of cartilage whisper unto the dirt for form—unification of kin, where name, identity, and anatomy has long since passed from, and can no longer separate. A defiled sacrosanct risen by the collective edifice of dead.

Never do we exceed the feelings imbibed, our distinction lost. Now both effigy and herald. We are only sheltered in fading memory, when we are needed most, but beyond befitting the transient who are yet to join us.

The penance amidst flames. There's always someone to blame in skies of turmoil. However: sight will remind what horrors the ash makes of we, who castigate, and manifest the deliverance of "justice".

In this terminus, a mass of human emotion, a mess of unresolved depravity that cannot be unmade, for alongside time, it is eternal. Just like our mistakes, originating from one—the humiliation and lamentation of it crushing upon their many shoulders, forlorn flooding countless visions, a conglomerate of fists hemic with delirious rage.

Simplicity is the understanding that communication is no longer viable when words are accoutrements facilitating mindless prejudice, to monstrosities that you've made, despite privately not being very far from.