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Stress on the sanity.

stress, the implement, the tool… the motivated fool that trots along merrily as the work duties are shed unto the next hapless drone mocking unlimited potential yet again… apologetic ghosts that sing out sorrows losing out to the full-throttle morals that deliver us from evil… plodding with what condemned fortitude that only a hell-fire furnace can create… we summon the demons that taint our dark sideways glances, lacking any real forethought to the unmentionables, and dirtying those unclean and defective wholes… bringing the second guess like a cannibalistic observer devouring that haunted siren song of the harbinger, the weakest among us flock toward the incredulous, and energies kept tossed to be put away… muddled vicissitudes of the vengeful and condemnable, hunting for a seeker’s day to ignite the fires, informing the cowards to run away to spread their miseries elsewhere… the masquerade swirls with half-garbled words and gestures behind the masks with the pleasant appearances, the noxious laughter fills the head between the ears, and does not relent with its vapid intrusion… for wont of the better plaything, the cannibals corpse is tossed aside like the rest of the wretch, chucked-up from the backside down the slope of kind harshness that seems to be permitted… an insult to harmony, the dissonance sparks outrage, and the energy becomes kinetic once again…

Thanks, khet.