the youth in me
moves outward
to portray frustration
inside others for
my actions turn
to mush together
becoming that
thing that ideas
circulate among
images that would
otherwise point
towards blank
and empty spaces
creating disarray.
You’ll have to face your syndrome, and take your medicine. As you grow thick and fat, befuddled as the ages lapse, and you must know that to dust you’re spat. Welcome to the dry womb.
An essay on Satanism from the perspective of an artist, with questions into mindless puppetry, and method of religion.