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Ley of the land.

mistakes, i keep making them, but is it a lack of pride or care in the face of uncertainty?… the fears wrap ages around the stuck physical laws… like a fingertip ringing the sovereign bell toll as it tolls for thee… the hands of a god omits defeat, to retreat into the safety zone of comforts known, and those bastards leave us Here in the reckless wilderness to conceive of a self from which to draw upon… clay-shaped irredeemable havoc the likes of which we allow to be in the tragic reality of who we are and where we seem to be going… stinking and stuck of too little too late, the cliche as such describes the very heart of the meat, and the words raw and unyielding draws blood from their prey… beating down the door retarded, that thing that stains the apes we pretend to be, but mutates as that viral growing thing we ate… the rape, the rape of ourselves and the land, and this misery translates again and again… tearing the tainted thrust apocalypse into the wind, and savoring that drastic sigh, as all hell broke loose in fits at night… the mind an unsavory stew, the images we take, and the people we hate… all these things met and faced in the dream… the capable killers of the finite material span cannot return unmarred from those exacting splinters… the voracious delivery of something wet as it approaches a forehead and lingers back, that dreadful kiss of impotent rage, and the twisting movements are wandering clear… the hands wringing themselves to decay, like the spent motions of oceanic sways, a kinetic wash crashing against the grey…

Thanks, khet.