I contemplate the decaying force of the forged nature,
that i have been forced to admire. None of this is
more special then a bitter draft at sunrise.
I am just flesh attached to bones that serve no other
purpose, other than rotting;
The beauty of everything that has ever yearned to be
beautyful is just makeup on existentialist dross;
I am the bitter taste of gall that circulates in the
veins of those who still consider the eternal
penitence a godly gift.
All your idols are dead, they died in vain, what for?
...Life??????